There's a first time for everything
by Aquma
Summary: Set in the year 2032, it's a tale of a difficult future, even more difficult feelings and choices that affect both, with JC and Cameron in leading roles. Contains elements of drama, tragedy, a bit of humour and even a criminal mystery. It's slightly AU.
1. Chapter 1

Foreword:

_I own no rights to the TSCC chatacters i use, or the Terminator franichise, obviously. Just playing with them a bit. _

_ The story and other characters are mine, however._

_This is an english-translated version of my first TSCC fanfic. I decied to do the translation even though i'm not entirelly sure i'm up to the task of having it done well enough. Writing in english means more readers and more feedback though, and that's what i'm after, so don't hesitate in throwing me a comment. All of them will be greatly apreciated, wheter they are positive or not._

_ There'll be a total of 4 chapters, plus an epilogue. The first one is kinda slow, starting the story, but You can expect things to pick up and tension to rise later on._

_ And lastly, sorry for my clumsy at times english. Try to be forgiving in this regard. :)_

*edit* _I made a mistake with a word, that i saw too late. In the first part i used word "bench" when in fact it was supposed to be a desk. Sigh. Hopefully, it was still more or less understandable._

_ Aquma, 10.06.2010_

_

* * *

_

*** Chapter I ***

The man sitting behind a desk laced fingers through his hair. It was only 10 pm, yet he already had no strenght for this. War reports and petitions were lying everywhere around, he almost believed that in some magical way, when he finished one, two more popped up in its place. His hard, green eyes skipped over the pile of papers that somehow managed to accumulate on his desk during just one week and he sighed with irritation. Taking one more look at the report he was reading right now, one speaking about weapons and munitions shortage in Greenway camp, he leaned back against his solid, leather armchair, and then finally closed his eyes, listening to the sounds coming from the room next door, trying to relax with crystal clear, sad sounds of Chopin's 20th Nocturne.

Deep down, he knew that his tiredness and lack of concentration had a much greater reason for existence today, then a desk full of overdue reports. He even knew there weren't even that many of them – he recieved paper reports only from camp's leading officers, leaving the the rest to those under his command, who in turn recieved theirs in a spoken form. It helped with the lack of education of many of his field officers, who quite commonly knew more about guns then the alphabet. Paper wasn't inifinite either, anyways. _Nothing is infinite in this fucked up world, and nothing comes easily, you have to fight for every damn thing, risk your life for every scrap, _he thought bitterly. Today though, not even that fact, usually a prime suspect, was the main reason for his stress. Today his tiredness had a much more personal reason.

_Damn 17__th__ march, _came through his mind and he sighed hard once again.

When he opened them again, his eyes didn't go towards his desk however, venturing behind wide-open doors to the room next door – his own bedroom, instead. He knew, after all, they were open for his pleasure. She remembered he liked to watch. She remembered everything.

A scene like from a completely different world opened up to his eyes. It didn't fit in any way to the old, worn carpet and battered desk, to the man who was sitting behind it, a man with a scarred chest and tired eyes who sometimes felt at least as old as the almost 160-years old furniture, despite the fact that he didn't reach even a quarter of that yet.

Behind the doors, to a calm rythm of the music, danced a girl. A shirt was tied up below her breasts – _my shirt,_ he noticed momentarily distracted – and tight fitting shorts only emphasized her figure, at the same time still allowing imagination to do its magic. Long, auburn hair was tied, yet a few strings had freed themselves, falling loosely on her face. Big, brown eyes, placed in an uncommon face, were slightly narrowed, as if in a great focus which, for one reason or the other, he found funny.

Ideal, practiced moves were taking her sleepily through the ballet, one fragment after the other and he knew she wouldn't make even a slightest mistake until the very end, when her deceptively delicate body would close like a flower in the very middle of his room. Making mistakes wasn't part of her nature. He saw this scene so many times, he could probably envision every part of it in his imagination and he knew that, if fate allows it, he'll see it many times more still, never having enough. Each time it was the same. Each time the music calmed him, the view soothing his wounds and throwing the ever-present tiredness out of his eyes. Each time, he would feel tears welling up in them, against his will.

He had seen as many firghtening things in his life as those deeply touching. He had seen mothers hugging dead treasures to their chests and soldiers rising up to the battle with his name on their lips. He had seen women in tears, carresing their dead husbands faces and lovers falling into each others embrace after coming back from what they'd imagined would be their dinner with death. He had also seen children, dead inside, looking around with an empty expression, a look that he knew would haunt his nightmares every night, until the very end.

He had seen more then he would've liked and he didn't have many tears left, yet for some reason her dance still brought him to their threshold. Each time she danced, he was barely holding it together.

_So little of that left, in this fucked up world._, he tought tiredly.

The man's heart cried while the girl continued dancing, swimming on the sounds of Chopin like a swan. She seemed completely focused on the music and rythm, her body yet another instrument, paying homage to the great composer.

An avatar of beauty.

An avatar of grace.

An avatar of paradox.

Suddenly, probably seeing his agitation, she stopped, with one leg still in the air. Hear head tilted slightly to the side, eyes focusing on him, taking in every detail instantly.

"John? Is everything alright?", she asked quietly, letting the music get ahead of her.

"Y...yes.", he answered after a brief moment, winning over his hoarse throat, "Yes, i'm alright. I'm sorry for getting you out of rythm."

Corners of her lipes turned up ever so slightly, in a smile noone else would've probably noticed. "It's nothing", she whispered and with those words she shot forward, her body a blur of speed, composing unnaturaly fast into required ballet forms. In just a few seconds she crossed the gap between her and the rythm, suddenly once again flowing into it, fitting the music like a favourite dress, with the slightest of smiles still on her lips.

_Like forewarding a movie_, crossed his mind and he asked aloud, "Couldn't you just have started from this moment...?"

"I could have.", she answered without stopping, "but the dance woudln't be complete then." Her body whirled around gracefully one last time and then she slowly, lazily fell to the carpet next to his bed. "It should be complete." , she added, "Dance is the hidden language of the soul."

_Yes,_ the man smiled inside_, there's probably more truth in that then you imagine._

Sometimes it really shocked him that noone else saw in her, what so visibly was there. _Perhaps it's because i'm the only one looking for it, _a tought came through his head. For a while he just sat there, silently, watching lost in thought as she stood up and moved, without a trace of fatigue – _obviously_ – to his side, freeing her hair on the way. Coming closer she stood behind his armchair and looked over his shoulder.

"Greenway.", she commmented emotionlessly, looking at the page lying on top of the pile of papers. "It's the second time in 83 days and 13 hours they ask your for weapons."

"They've had a rough couple of months.", he answered, drumming his fingers on the armrest.

"More like loose triggers."

He sighed.

"They lost a lot of weaponry six months ago, during the attack on the factory, remember?", he reminded her in a tired tone, "On my command. It's my responsibility to support them with whatever they might nee..ee... d..", the last part of his sentence was cut off by a sudden touch of her hand on his neck. _Eh, Johny... Nearly a quarter-century of aquaintence and you still jump like a teenager around her. Worth a laugh._

"You are tired, John.", said the object of his thoughts matter-of-factly, putting her hands into slow, circulating movements massaging the muscles of his neck. "And hungry.", she added, furrowing her brows. "You shouldn't work this much."

"It's not that.", he answered resigning himself to her agile hands. "Not today."

Uncomortable silence flooded the room for a while. The man quite obviously had no desire to pursue the topic that was as natural as it was inescapable, tommorow being what it was. In the midst of work he somehow evaded thinking about it for almost the whole day, but John knew that the evening would bring it with its wind. It was like that every year, for the last six of them.

"It's... tommorow.", she started at last.

"Yes."

Velvet silence descended upon them again, for longer this time.

"I'm sorry, John.", he heard finally.

"It wasn't your fault."

"It was. If i was faster. If i managed to get on the trajectory..."

"No, dammit!", he growled, stopping her, probably a little harsher then he intended, "How many times do we have to go through this? You coudn't have done anything! Anything! That's just the way it is. This is war... she knew it. She taught me this herself. She taught me ... that people die in a war."

Last words made him drop his head helplessly. _Esspecially around me._

"Even if you managed...", he added quietly after a while. "Even if you made it on time, this damned date would've meant the same to me. The only change would be the name on the tombstone."

He didn't say anything more, allowing another slight moment of silence to stress his words further. On the outside, there was almost no reaction. He did feel, however, that her fingers suddenly stopped their movement on his neck. It was only a moment, several seconds at best, before she resumed her massage. But it definitely was there.

They remained like that for a while, this time neither of them feeling the need to speak. The girls hands worked efficiently, sucking fatigue out of his body, piece by piece, replacing it with a sleepy comfort.

And then, when he was already swimming away at its tides, after a long and hard –_ oh, how fucking hard_ – day, a dull, electrical crackle filled the room and the intercom station on the nearbly wall came to life, talking in an unsure, kinda frightened voice of Larson, one of John's lieutanants.

"_General? We... we've got a problem. I think you need to see this."_

He opened his eyes, sighing and suddenly seeing the bottomless, brown pools of her eyes just inches from his face. _How many times did i tell her not to do that..._

He was tired, had a bad day and he absolutely didn't want to go anywhere, but he knew that his lieutanant woudln't bother him without a really good reason. Noone did. He even missed that, sometimes.

"I'll be there shortly, Larson.", he said finally, hoping the intercom's 10 second auto-response would still catch him, and then, just to the girl standing above him, he added, "It seems it's going to be a long night."

"No, John. Nights are relatively short, this time of the year.", she responded matter-of-factly.

_Typical._

"I meant that i'm probably not going to sleep much today.", he explained carefully.

"Oh.", she tilted her head funnily, turning the corners of her lips slightly up again, "Thank you for explaining.", and when he was already starting to smile she added "you need at least six hours of sleep to remain fully functional."

Getting up, he rolled his eyes. _Yes, mom. _And then cursed himself, scowling, for sticking fingers into old wounds.

_Damned 17__th__ march._

And the last thought that accompanied him when they were leaving, carefully locking the doors behind them was wheter what he saw in her eyes when the intercom returned him to the earth from the brink of sleep, really was a genuine concern.

_Eh, Johny, Johny..._

_

* * *

_

Private Liam Craig was new here, came with a transport of troops just two days ago. Perhaps that was why the Carey Base, located in an old salt mine one of the biggest outposts of the resistance in Kansas, was still one big – _and fucking scary_ – question mark for him. Guys from his new squad tried to comfort him, reassuring that there are multiple, more or less hidden, exits and the whole structure is so stable that no form of outside bombing short of a nuclear blast can harm them and so fortified that taking it with infantry force wouldn't be easy, despite that though, Liam had his doubts.

There simply was something very unnerving in living under hundreds of tons of stone. It wasn't even the lack of sun or living under the earth. No, Craig had spent most of his life, like the majority of the people he knew, under the earth. Only after arriving at Carey, teasingly called "Undermountain" by its inhabitants, Liam learned that the _amount_ of this earth can make a whole world of difference.

That's why it's quite easy to assume that the base itself amounted to around half of the reason for his unnerved pacing back and forth right now, looking as if he haven't had the slightest of ideas about what to do with himself at this exact moment in time and space. The other half was his sheer, pure, gigantic _unluck._

Because how else can you explain a fact that just after two days, he encountered something like _this_?

"Calm down, Craig.", said lieutenant Larson, standing nearby. "General will be here soon."

"Uh-uh.", the private mumbled, lacing fingers through his blond hair and trying very hard not to look at what was hanging on the light mast – the physical manifestation of his fucking bad luck, as he already started to call it. He succeeded quite well, that's probably why he easily saw that the strange view had started to draw in some spectators. Here and there, people were whispering pointing at the mast, a group of four soldiers standing near a wall started to laugh after one of them pointed a finger at it and gave some kind of comment to his friends.

Liam wasn't in a funny mood. It was a bad, a really _fucking_ bad day. And just when he started to see the one positive side of it – the fact that things couldn't really get that much worse until it ends, reality once more kicked him in the ass.

He blinked several times. Great. He was loosing it.

In the middle of the great mining cave walked a teenage girl, nonchalantly carrying a heavy assault plasma rifle on one shoulder. It wasn't just any teenage girl too, but one that looked quite cute and decidedly hot. Waves of long, auburn hair flew behind her back with each step of long legs, clad in _very_ tight shorts and a slightly too big shirt tied below her breasts left quite a lot, quite interesting things, to be seen. Normally, Craig would feel kinda ashamed to stare at a woman's breasts like that, but he felt no shame now. _My hallucinations, my pleasure_, he thought with satisfaction. The strangest thing, though, his brain left him for the very last, because the woman's feet were clad in...

_Uh-uh, definitely ballet shoes._, he ascertained nodding his head back and forth. He knew how they look, one time when he was still a tunnel rat he had an occasion to visit a small shop, with a whole mannequin in a ballet set. He never actually saw any parts of it _on someone, _though. Especially in an army base. _I'm going mad_, he summarized happily. He was almost relieved. Now it really couldn't get any worse.

Perhaps, if he wasn't so absorbed in experiencing his new found madness, he would've seen the details that didn't fit eariler. He would have seen the tall, heavily built man with short dark hair who walked next to her. He might have seen how most of the soldiers subconsciously straightened when he came by, or how some of them saluted him without a word – a gesture of respect. Perhaps he would've even seen how one of the four soldiers standing near the wall scowls and spats, looking at the girl with hate, just right after the strange pair passed him by.

Preoccupied as his mind was at this moment, though, it had to take a note of those facts, sooner or later and when it finally did, Craig blinked again, his brows coming up.

"Oh.", he said, finally doing the math, "Oh..."

"Yep.", answered lieutenant to his right, watching the boy's reaction with a funny expression, "That's general Connor..."

_You've got to be kidding..._, private thought, shifting his gaze from the man to the girl and back.

"...and his metal.", Larson finished, giving the boy a pat on his shoulder.

_...me._

_

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_

They marched straight to the place where Larson was stationed. Well, almost. It took them a while longer because, before they got here, Cameron insisted – _of course_ - to get suitably armed, which in her case usually meant picking up the largest and most dangerous killing tool she could find in the vicinity and take with her. If barely. _Infiltration model_, he rolled his eyes, _Advanced one. Skilled in hiding in the crowds. _He himself didn't expect any weapons-requiring problems but who was he to ignore her opinion. Her expertise, _and some kind of cybernetic paranoia_, he added in his thoughts, saved his life more times then he could remember, after all.

When they came out of a corner and saw the reason for the whole uproar, he thanked her in his heart and decided she might have been right. It wouldn't be the first time.

On one of the many light masts hanged a crucified endoskeleton.

Well, not exactly, perhaps. Still covered in blood, viciously skinned shape dangled about 5 feet above the earth. Somone probably hooked his scull on some outstanding element of the mast, which coupled with a pole inserted behind his back to straighten his arms made him look like a caricature of a christian cross. A very haunting look. Even from this distance Connor could recognize the familiar features of a T-888, one of the most advanced models serving in the base after re-programing. There were three of them here.

They started in that direction, skipping growing groups of bystanders on their way. He heard one of the soldiers standing near the wall – private Draill, if his memory was correct – mumbling faintly "metal bitch" and spatting with contempt, when the passed him. He made a mental note to make suitable adjustments for latrine cleaning duty for the next week. _Two weeks, if his saliva landed anywhere but on the rocky floor._

When they came closer his attention was caught by the fact, that besides the bulky figure of Dwight Larson, which he recognized easily from afar, there was another person at the scene. A young soldier, practicly a boy still, with light hair and a friendly face, who looked at them with a clear anxiety, moving nervously around, as if he didn't know if he was going to orgasm or suffer a heart attack. _Cameron_, John concluded. She had that effect sometimes, especially on boys his age. _Been there, done that._

When they finally arrived he threw a careful, critical look over the place, before the big lieutenant could speak though, he raised a finger, turning more or less in the direction they came from.

"I see that some of you have too much spare time!", he roared on full volume, causing both men standing nearby to jump slightly, observed by a curious cyborg. "One minute from now, each and every one of you is going to be where he or she should, or expect that i'll make sure that tomorrow your legs will be so deep up your ass, they will gladly take you there of their own free will!"

The reaction was instant. Here and there you could hear some mumbling and whining but after a while the main cave was as empty as it should be at 11 pm o'clock. Content, Connor turned to the men waiting for him, seeing the young soldier straightening involuntary under his sight. He even stopped looking at the ballet shoes-clad terminator for a little moment.

"At ease, boy.", he said to the youngster, and the addressing Larson. "What have we got here?"

"It's the one from the machine room, sir.", the soldier answered.

"Greg?"

"Ehm... well, yes.", general didn't miss the slight hesitance, but it wasn't anything strange. His custom of giving names to the machines serving under him was, to say the least, a little unpopular.

"Poor Greg.", Cameron suddenly spoke.

All of the men's eyes turned in her direction and there was a moment of uncomfortable silence between them. The cyborg tilted her head slightly, looking at them with a "what did i do wrong?" expression on her face.

"Poor.", agreed Connor for the sake of decency.

"Ekhm.", his lieutenant coughed. "His chip is missing, sir."

"Signs of combat?"

"No.", the officer shook his head. "The endo isn't damaged."

"Electricity.", said Cameron circling around the mast, getting a closer look. "Someone electrocuted him with enough power to cause a restart and used this time to remove his chip and deactivate him permanently."

"It wasn't here, then.", the general concluded. "Perhaps in the machine room."

Cameron just nodded her head.

"Him?", Connor pointed his finger on the blond boy, who suddenly paled, possibly misunderstanding the question.

"He found him, sir."

The general's green eyes turned in the direction of the youngster. He raised his eyebrow questioningly. When the boy still didn't get it, he finally asked. "Do i have to wait much longer?"

Liam Craig first paled, then reddened and when Connor was starting to suspect he'll go through all the colors of the rainbow, he finally answered.

"Well... Mr. Connor, it was..."

"General.", Cameron corrected helpfully.

"Uh.", the boy sighed, the older man rolling his eyes, "General Connor, Private Liam Craig reporting for duty.", he straightened and saluted.

"I'm happy for you.", his commanding officer disregarded, trying not to show his irritation. "Now tell me. How did you find him, Craig?"

"Not much to tell, sir. I was getting back from my friends in a different squad, from... hmm... integration activities."

_As if i didn't know you're playing poker and drinking hooch in C-2 barracks each saturday..._

"...when i saw something hanging on one of the masts.", the boy continued, "I came closer and found him. In the present state."

"What time was that?"

"About 40 minutes ago, sir."

"Have you seen anyone or anything strange?"

"No, sir. Not a single soul nearby.", the youngster scratched his head.

"Anything to add?"

"No, sir."

Connor turned to the lieutenant once more. "We have to check the machine room...", he started.

"John...", Cameron's voice interrupted him.

"_General_", mumbled the private under his nose, earning such a look from her that he very much regretted it, almost shrikinging under the gaze of a suddenly Very Scary Robot. Still clad in ballet shoes. Cyborgs had a damn good hearing.

"John... he's got something in his mouth.", Cameron returned to the topic at hand, moving towards the endo and quite unceremoniously attempting to unclench his jaw. The effect was a bit different then intended, because the jaw gave resistance, which ended in a loud jarring sound, and finally its separation from the scull.

Craig's eyes widened.

_Yep_, Connor thought, moving closer and taking a look at what his friend had in her hands. _Only the heart attack possible for him now._

He took the crumpled paper bundle from her and spread it over, tipping what was inside on his hand.

"That would be our chip.", he said sadly, looking at the fragments of destroyed hardware.

He put it back on Cameron's hand and then gave a longer look at the paper itself, noticing something written on it.

_**"Beware of false prophets who come disguised as harmless sheep but are really vicious wolves."**_

...read the cyborg over his shoulder.

"Oh fuck...", John Connor commented, "Oh for fuck's sake..."

* * *

Afterword:

_Hope You liked it. In the next chapter things are going to get a bit nasty, there__ will__ also be some real action. Slightly less Jameron, though.  
_

_Carey is a real place in Kansas, or so google told me. I've never been there, living in Europe my whole life, so be patient with my imagination :)._

_If You have the time, please write me a review or two. Would really apreciate knowing what You think._

_Aquma, 11.06.2010  
_


	2. Chapter 2

Foreword:

_Alright, so the second chapter is here. The translation is actually coming faster then i expected, as i'm slowly getting the hang of it._

_ Hopefully, You won't be dissapointed in how the story is turning out. Be advised though, this chapter might be a bit hard on You in some places. You'll know what i mean when You reach them._

_ Thanks to all who responded with reviews and comments. My work is really paying off, thanks to You. I'll do my best to keep You entertained until the end._

_ As a clarification, italic text in whole sections of the story means that it's a memory._

_

* * *

_

*** Chapter II ***

The sky was beautiful. Deep blue, like an aquamarine, only in two places streaked with white stripes of completely harmless clouds. Under it, children playing in a juicy, green grass. A pair – a boy and a girl, probably siblings, considering the family resemblance. The girl was picking up flowers, the boy ran around her, screaming in joy with arms wide stretched, as if they were wings. A little bit farther a woman, most probably their mother was doing laundry in a clear mountain stream that reflected the sky like a mirror. The work looked hard, yet the woman's face was adorned with a smile. She was clearly happy.

_Who would've thought._, John sighed, turning away from the picture hanging on his wall. _Who would've thought that a painting by some provincial artist would be my solitary window on the old world, after several decades._

He sighed hard. Nowadays, that place, once so acurately captured by the painter, was probably a part of wasteland, like almost everything else. He didn't want to think about the childrens' fate.

John moved to his desk and dropped into the armchair. He then picked up a crumpled piece of paper and watched it in silence, turning in his fingers from time to time.

"Beware of false prophets", he read once more, mumbling under his nose, "who come disguised as harmless sheep but are really vicious wolves."

"Bible, St. Mathew 7:15,16. Incomplete.", said Cameron from the door, in her typical tone of a cyborg quoting a dictionary.

He was so absorbed that he didn't even see when she entered. Of course, the fact that she liked moving as quietly as a hunting cat sometimes didn't help in a possible detection, but still, usually he had to worry about the exact opposite of not noticing her.

"Yes, you mentioned that already.", he smiled, his eyes not moving from the paper however, "and i already know you don't sleep, too.", he added, as she was starting to open her mouth again.

She hesitated for a moment, as if he threw her out of balance with that comment, somehow, and then tilted her head slightly.

"You're worried.", she stated more then asked, moving closer and taking a seat at the edge of his desk.

"Yes, Cam.", he sighed, moving a hand over his face, "I am."

"Because of this?", she pointed at the paper.

"A psychopath, quoting bible and murdering our mechanical allies is the last thing we need.", he answered bitterly, "Psychopaths and fanatics are dangerous enough when they aren't following the will of the people."

She seemed to analyze his words for a while.

"You're worried he'll inspire others.", Cameron put the heart of his fears out into the open.

"I'm worried he already did.", he sighed tiredly. "It's really hard to believe that one man could have carried a heavy endo through two big caves, without drawing any attention from anyone. Someone must have seen him. Or..."

"Or he wasn't alone.", she nodded her head. "A group, or support from someone powerful enough to cover his tracks. An officer."

"We think alike.", he stated after a while.

"Yes. We think alike.", she agreed willingly.

The man stood up, straightened then proceed to move nervously back and forth, from one wall of his office to the other. His companion's vigilant eyes observed him all the time, her head moving slightly with him.

"He left no traces in the machine room, no evidence.", he resumed after a while, still marching, "No one had seen him. We know, however, that he's probably religious and we know..."

"We know what he wants.", she interrupted, reading his mind again.

"Yes." he answered in a quieter, more tired voice, "We know what he wants."

The cyberg got up, going straight to the door. Then she stopped for a moment, looking at him over her shoulder.

"I'll let lieutenant Larson know you want all likely targets observed and i'll tell Savanna we would like to talk with her in the evening."

_That's so totally Cam_, he thought. She didn't waste time waiting for him to speak, she started acting faster then he could form the words, knowing what they were going to be anyway. Efficient and direct as always. _One of the reasons i... like her so much._

"Yes.", he agreed with a smile, involuntarily looking at the line of her neck, the way her hair waved over her shoulders when she moved her hand to open the door... _Eh... i should stop doing that to myself, _he scolded himself. Aloud though, he added. "And one more thing. This young private..."

"Craig.", she prompted helpfully, "Private Liam Craig."

"Yes, him. Please tell him i would like to see him too. Today at 7 pm."

"Alright, John.", she nodded, "We'll meet at the Memorial?"

The man sighed once more, moving his hand over his face.

"Yes.", he whispered. "Sarah's waiting for us."

* * *

The tall, powerfully built man worked tirelessly. Cleaning weapons was not only his everyday ritual, it was also his pleasure. Weapons were simple, they had one purpose and they served man. They existed for him. Everything should be like that. He liked his weapon. A solid, old work, invented and build by humans, not like all those plasma toys stolen from the enemy. He knew it wouldn't fail him.

His massive forearms moved swiftly and without any unnecessary actions, tattooed rosaries glistening in the light. When he cleaned all of the fragments, he started to carefully put them back together. Finally, when his work was finished the man smiled and looked over his work with attention. Perfect.

_It was a good day yesterday, _he thought, putting the ammo magazine in place with a characteristic click. _The metal beast lays dead, the Lord's Word sounded loudly over the whole cave like a choir of angels._

Now, it was time for the second verse.

* * *

It was probably the most beautiful place in the whole base. Years ago, before Judgement Day, when the mine was still open for visitors as a museum, this cave was one of the selling points. Now, after all the years, you could still see why always-busy people of the ending 20th and beginning 21st centuries still could have wanted to stop here, if for just a little while.

Everywhere around, there were salt sculptures. They were made by nature and each was different, each unique. A person with a big enough imagination could probably see almost everything in them. Some saw faces, others flowers or animals, others still, things that made completely no sense, abstract designs, alien, yet still beautiful. For all of them though - the island full of sculptures, stalagmites and stalactites, surrounded by deep blue-green water that was subtly lit by electric light from below, causing it to throw reflections all over the room - for all of them, it was breathtaking.

Yes, it was a beautiful place. That's exactly why it was chosen.

John Connor understood his people, understood their needs. He knew, better then most, that the war was a cruel mistress, requiring huge sacrifices in blood from its servants. He knew the pain of loss and he knew how it felt, not being able to give your loved ones a real funeral, not having a place for their remembrance, a place to visit on the anniversary of their death. During war, however he couldn't possibly risk the living for the dead. They tried to take those who fell to the enemy with them to give them a proper farewell, whenever they could. More often then not, however, this choice was made for them by the situation.

That's why, in the middle of the room, there was something that at first sight didn't fit there in any way. Huge, almost 9 feet tall block of black marble. Large part of it was already covered in small letters.

Mourning notes.

A remembrance for every fallen soldier, every single resident of the base who died serving humanity's cause. It wasn't much, really, just a short note for each of them: a name, dates of birth and death and a few words of description. sometimes not even that.

But it was still much more then any of his men expected.

Looking at this, Sarah Connor would've said that each time he wonders why his soldiers would follow his lead to hell and back, he's being a fool, because he should just come here and look at the Memorial and he'd have his answer.

Looking at her name, written high there in the stone, John could almost hear her speaking those words exactly.

_**"Sarah Connor, 1965-2026**_

_**Beloved Mother, Friend and Teacher"**_

...said the note engraved in the dark stone.

* * *

_The Centaur was towering over the battlefield. Powerful, more then 30 feet tall monstrosity crushed under its tracks almost everything it drove over, its steel arms throwing away everything it couldn't crush. At the top, a pseudo-head equipped with all kinds of different sensors was looking for its target tirelessly._

_ Connor cursed obscenely under his breath. He was coming back from a meeting with heads of almost all cells of the resistance in the region, when his convoy ran right into a Centaur, along with a hunting party of smaller machines. He didn't know whether it was a coincidence or some Gray was involved, but he'd put his money on the latter. He just couldn't believe his reconnaissance would fuck things up this much. Whichever it was, though, they were fucked. His men were scattered, trying to fight off the enemy and at the same time evade being evaporated by the behemoth which, in turn, was aimed almost exatly at John's little trio, hidden in the ruins around them._

_ Even its primitive, limited AI recognized his face without fail, instantly matching it to his name in its database and aquiring him as a primary target. He heard a bolt of plasma hitting the building near him, just 10 feet or so away, literally evaporating one of the walls. Seconds later a loud shriek of breaking metal came, accompanied closely by the roar of crashing stones, when the whole building broke like a house of cards._

We won't last long like this., _John thought._

_ He saw his mother, hidden behind some rubble nearby and right beside him, he felt Cameron's presence. Problem was, neither of them could really be considered a threat to the titanic Skynet tank. There was only one tactic known to him they could use in this situation. However, it required... it required something he wasn't willing to give._

_ And then he saw his mother rising slowly. He captured her eyes burrowing into his own and felt a cold shiver running down his spine._

This time the choice might not be mine, _he suddenly realized, terror griping his heart._

_ Sarah looked at him for a little while longer, her eyes telling more then any words could ever have, and then she shifted her gaze to Cameron and said something, which John couldn't have possibly heard from that distance._

_ Then she jumped from her cover like a flying arrow._

_ The man started too, trying to scream, but suddenly something pinned him to the earth with a murderous strenght. A deceptively delicate hand covered his mouth._

_ "No, John.", he heard a quiet voice, brown eyes holding his own and time seemed to stop in place. He felt her hair tickling him when she lowered her face. They looked at each other for what seemed an eternity and then something mysterious slowly crossed her features, a grimace he couldn't really name. For a moment she seemed to fight a silent battle inside, a conflict of imperatives in her own, cybernetic mind. Then, she surprised him completely._

_ "I'll do it.", she said simply and then she was gone._

_

* * *

_

_Sarah Connor ran. Despite having seen fifty two springs already, her youth way behind her, she's never ran as fast as she was running now. Her son's life depended on her legs. And head. But mostly legs. Whole humanity depended on them._

_ She stopped for a moment, firing a few rounds from her plasma rifle right into the steel titan. The shots didn't do much harm, its armour was way too thick for that, but that wasn't what they were meant to do anyway._

_ "Hey!", she screamed at the top of her lungs, firing once more to further stress her words. "You metal motherfucker! Here!"_

_ Seeing his body turning in her direction she broke into a determined run once more. She knew she would be his target now. Her name was still on Skynet's black list._

_

* * *

_

_John looked in shock as his defender moved faster and faster, in just a few second gaining a blinding speed that no human could ever match. After running several feet the cyborg bounced off a broken concrete plate and jumped to almost twice her height, shooting several rounds of plasma right at the left side of the centaurs head while still in air. She landed on her feet with grace, rolling over her shoulder only to keep the accumulated speed and started a pursuit after Sarah who, while much slower, had a serious advantage of distance. While running she fired one more round at the monster, trying unsuccessfully to get his attention._

_ John knew that the 250D hunter tank's plasma cannon was as dangerous to her as to anyone __else. He knew that if he won't act fast, he might loose both of them. He feared that so much he was surprised to find himself still thinking._

_ He broke into a run, jumping from his own hiding place, perhaps not as dynamically as Cameron, but still at the limit of his own capabilities. The cyborg's round destroyed the sensors on the behemoth's left side and he knew it wasn't a coincidence. Thanks to that, he was effectively blinded to anything that happened this side of his monstrual shape. _Not the other side, though, where both my crazy mother and Cameron are running.

_John crashed into the centaur, jumping and grabbing above the still moving tracks. For a moment he was afraid that the impact force would drag him underneathth but he managed to pull himself up, somehow, using his hands and legs to climb onto the metal monster, almost loosing his balance in the process. He heard it fire one shot after the other but didn't let himself think about the possible consequences of that fact._

_Moving behind the pseudo-humanoid torso of the cybernetic tank, he detached three thermal detonators from the container on his thigh and crouched down to pin them, one after the other, under the plates of its armour. It took him what seemed like ages, because to maximize the damage he couldn't put them in one place._

_ When all three were set, he took a running start and jumped off the beast, hitting the ground hard. He shook his head, trying to overcome a slight daze and broke into a run, determined to increase the distance between himself and the machine as fast as possible. Finally, after about 40 feet he reached a pile of rubble and hid behind a concrete plate, taking the detonator out._

_ There were no big words, no holywood last minute bullshit, no "yupicayey muthafucka" or the like. He just pushed the button, hearing the metal monster firing one more salvo before the explosion's roar filled his ears._

_

* * *

_

_ Her heart beat like a drum, body slowly giving up. She had severe burns on her back and one arm was probably broken, but she was still running._ I'm too old for this..._, crossed her mind. Despite her own opinion though, she managed to - in what seemed like a complete miracle - evade three salvos from the centaur's double cannons, so far. When she started running she was quite sure it would get her by the second at best._

_ In the corner of her eye she saw Cameron running towards her, also noticing her son jumping off the 250D's colossal shape._

Why the fuck is she running here,_ Sarah thought frantically_, I thought i gave her an order...

_And right then, she suddenly felt her left feet twisting because of some damn rubble and lost her balance. If she wasn't so tired, she probably would've managed to control her body, but she was and it decided it had enough of this deathly marathon. _

_ She crashed heavily into the ground, the impact throwing air out of her lungs._

_ When, trying to get up, she saw the barrel of a plasma cannon pointed her way in the distance, Sarah already knew it was her last run. She looked one last time at her son, hiding behind some rubble. Her dear, strong, brave son. Alive. Still alive._

_ The cannon fired, bright death moving towards her._

_ She had just enough time left to smile blissfully, hearing an explosion and straightening the middle finger of her right hand.  
_

_ And then, the darkness came._

_

* * *

_

_ He didn't know how long he was lying under the rubble. The explosion toppled the plate he was hiding behind, crashing it on top of him. He almost paid the ultimate price for his recklessness. He know it was worth it, though, as he didn't hear even one cannon shot after the explosion. He was only worried if he made it on time._

_ Finally, he heard a crackle, like a stone being crushed and a few seconds later he saw the plate moving up, showing a vision of an injured Cameron's face. Half of her head was drastically burned, showing the metal underneath in some places. _It's not a direct hit..._, he observed with relief,_ she woudln't be here then. Probably just some melted stone.

_A while later, however, when no one else seemed to appear in her vicinity he felt something crushing his heart like a cramp, his relief washing away like a dream._

_ "Sarah...?", he asked weakly._

_ Cameron looked into his eyes and shook her head slightly._

_ "I'm sorry, John.", she answered. "I wasn't fast enough."_

_ Throwing away a piece of rubble she was holding she looked at her hands and he could've sworn she shivered slightly._

_ "I'm sorry John.", she repeated, dropping her head. "I'm sorry __for your loss."_

_

* * *

_

A delicate touch of a hand on his shoulder brought him back from the world of painful memories. He covered her hand with his own, looking over his shoulder and smiling at her, before he turned back.

"I miss you, Mom.", he whispered, looking at the marble block and feeling tears welling in his eyes. "More then you'll ever know."

The girl at his side came closer, kneeling near the memorial and placing a small piece of paper at its base. A mourning note. She did this every year, every 17th march, a custom she learned many, many years ago. John didn't knew what she wrote on them, he never asked. In some twisted way, despite this being his mother's grave, and her being a cyborg, it seemed too personal to inquire about.

He knew, that in a few days everything lying here would be carefully gathered and burned, as an offering to those it was meant for.

From the logical point of view, this made leaving anything here pointless. It was all the more fascinating, that she still did this every year despite that fact.

"Come, Cam.", he said quietly. "We've got a lot of work to do."

She stood up, nodding her head with a smile and they moved to the exit without a single word.

* * *

Tension at the table was so thick, you could probably cut it with a knife like a birthday cake, despite that though, Connor was having a good time, when he rested his back against the armchair observing his guests. A small smile danced on his lips, eyes bright with mirth.

To his right, as always, sat Cameron. Her face was completely emotionless, only eyes watching everything vigillantly. Like a beautiful, watchful sculpture, right from under the chisel.

To his left sat a very beautiful woman in her thirties, perhaps. Her long, wavy hair was gold-red, and her brown eyes housed a wild spark of intellect. Face, currently resting on her palms, had a classic beauty to it, fitting with the alabaster-white skin.

Savannah Weaver was the object of admiration for nine out of ten men in Carey. Beautiful, unmarried woman who spent her days teaching small children, while still having the time to care for the memorial and the chapel. She tried to listen to everyone, placing words like a balsam on people's souls when she felt they needed it, or just listened to them, holding their hands when silence seemed more appropriate. She was like an angel.

_What they don't know_, Connor thought looking at her_, is that she's also my chief psychologist and probably the very best spy in this base._ It was largely thanks to this woman, that he managed to keep his hand on the pulse of the whole "Undermountain".

The last person present and, at the same time, the main reason for John's amusement was private Liam Craig. The boy looked as if he didn't know where to hang his eyes. Lacing his fingers nervously through his hair he darted his eyes endlessly from the great saviour of mankind sitting opposite to him to the frightening, yet unquestioningly attractive cyber-killer, in his imagination forever linked to the image of ballet shoes, and finally, to Savannah, the ideal woman desired by every man from his squad, Craig himself not being an exception.

Somewhere in those eyes, however, there was also an unasked question. He was wondering about the reason for his being there.

"So...", Savanna spoke finally, throwing a sharp look at the general. "I'm guessing us being here has something to do with the devil's spectacle we saw yesterday."

"Indeed.", he answered simply.

"John would like to know who do you think could've done something like that.", explained Cameron matter-of-factly.

Redhead shrugged her shoulders. "Probably half the base."

Connor looked at her and she just shook her head.

"I can't build a reasonable, viable psychological profile based on just one crime.", she said with a sigh. "It's probably someone deeply religious, since he quotes Bible and it's not like you can find it in every library nowadays. Mostly because there are none of those. He needed to attend the sermons, because if someone asked me for this particular quote lately, i would've remembered. Or he's got his own copy. Or he's got the Book all remembered. In both of those cases, however, i believe he'd still want to attend the service."

General nodded and the woman continued.

"Brutal and expressive character of the deed would suggest a deep pain and a desire for vengeance or perhaps justice. It's someone who deeply hates machines.", she looked into John's eyes. "Which could mean anybody."

"You're not helping, Savannah.", the man sighed.

"I told You.", she answered irritated. "I can't do much. Perhaps if he strikes again, once or twice. Perhaps then."

The man rested on his back on the armchair again, staring at some undefined point above their heads, which seemed to instantly get the attention of his cybernetic shadow, too. The fact that there wasn't anything there didn't prevent her from observing the ceiling for a substantial moment.

"Alright then.", he said finally. "Be alert. If you happen to see, talk to or hear about anyone who'll ring a bell, let me know as soon as possible. Or Cam."

"Of course."

Connor's eyes drifted to the boy opposite of him who seemed to be sitting more straight now.

"Sir?", he asked.

"Savannah has an excellent connection with people.", John started after a while. "but even she can't reach everywhere. There are things soldiers would only share with those who fight at their sides."

"Without a doubt, sir."

"I would like you to be my shadow, Craig. Inside the barracks."

A moment of quite long and embarrassing silence descended on the room. Cameron, still as unperturbed as always looked at the door. Savannah, in turn, eyed the boy with a new-found curiosity.

"Sir.", the youngster spoke finally. "Why me?"

The older man's gaze met his eyes.

"Because you're young and clever. Because you have a funny personality, that'll easily open people before you. Because you can't plan an action like that in two days, without knowing the base and you're not from here, in the base for exactly that long.", he answered. "But most of all, because your first reaction to what you saw was a report to your commanding officer worded, let me quote 'Murder, sir. We've got murder.'.

The boy was silent.

"I need someone like you. I won't force you however. It's a request, not an order.", the general continued. "And you don't have to answer now. I would like your decision by tomorrow mor..."

"I'll do it, sir.", Craig stopped him.

Their eyes met again, for a longer while this time. _The boy has balls., _Connor thought, _Even if he hides them sometimes. _

A nice, warm smile curved his lips.

"Thank you."

The youngster straightened like an arrow, then saluted.

"It's an honor, sir."

"Yes, it is.", Cameron added to his left and the boy's face went red. John started to laugh, the redhead rolled her eyes. After a moment, though, all of them were laughing hard. All besides Cameron, of course, who looked at each of them in turn silently, tilting her head.

Their explosion of laughter was suddenly interrupted by an electric crackle coming from the intercom. Four pairs of eyes turned in its direction.

"_Sir... i think we've got another one._", spoke a tired voice of lieutenant Larson.

Connor sighed, moving a hand over his face. "Speaking of the devil.", he said finally. "Let's go."

* * *

When the four of them marched into the main cave, they quickly understood what the officer was talking about.

"There.", Cameron said in a monotone voice, pointing a finger at the place in front of her.

Below one of the highest points in the entire cave, a little rocky shelf above C-1 barracks, an endoskeleton was swinging back and forth. From what John could see from this distance, someone put a loop over its head then pushed it down, to hang like a Christmas ornament. _Or a hangman_, the more reasonable part of his mind suggested.

"We need to get there.", he commanded.

"The easiest way would probably lead through the barracks, sir. They've got ladders leading up there.", Craig offered, standing next to his leader.

"Barracks it is, then."

* * *

Their procession through the soldiers quarters stirred a lot of people and sparked a lot of attention. John calmed them in a leveled voice, ordering to stay put. They took the ladder, first one, then the next, and after a long and a bit tiring journey, arrived at the very place they were looking at before.

You could see almost the entire main complex from up here. Three barracks, training grounds, private officer quarters and the medical station. It wasn't the whole base, of course. There were a lot of places in smaller caves which you could reach through a multitude of corridors. This was the heart of Carey, though, and you could see most important things that happened in the mine from this point of view. Unfortunately, it also meant that the many bystanders that were slowly gathering could observe you without that much of a problem, too. Connor didn't like that, for many reasons.

There was one more way leading to the shelf, also by a ladder. A ladder that someone purposely broken.

"A clever one, eh?", Connor mumbled under his nose, looking down. Almost ten minutes passed since Larson notified them. Pursuing now wouldn't make much sense.

"Alright, let's get him up here.", he commanded and Cameron reached down, grabbed the line and started methodically pulling the endoskeleton back to the shelf, blocking her feet on the rocky surface. Finishing, the cyborg lied him down in front of the rest of them.

"Poor Willy.", she commented with an empty face, making the general smile a little.

"How do you know it's him?"

His friend pointed at the endoskeleton's skull, where at one place you could notice a slight dent.

"A mark, after a bullet.", she explained. "Damage he suffered in combat, many years ago. I helped him repair it myself. Because sometimes it's nice to have help."

Connor noted the faces of both Craig and Savannah with a slight amusement, but then, he shook his head. It made no sense. He could understand an attack on Greg. T-888 working with the machinery was a rare model and one of the more influential machines in the base. This wasn't a triple 8 though, it wasn't even a T-800, just an old, primitive, and used only for battle purposes T-600 model. Why would anyone want to kill him?

"He's got something in his mouth.", Cameron noted once again.

"Take it out, please."

She grabbed the endo's jaw and general saw the young private turning his eyes away, probably under a sway of bad memories. A slight metal jarring sound could be heard, and then the jaw gave up. This time, to the boy's relief, no drastic measures were needed.

Cameron pulled out a crumpled piece of paper, unwrapping it and placing the fragments of a destroyed chip on one hand. Then she looked at the paper itself and read the message aloud.

_**"Thine own wickedness shall correct thee, and thy backslidings shall reprove thee."**_

A horribly loud gunshot resounded like a thunder in the entire cave.

_I'm dead..._, crossed John's mind.

A fraction of a second later he saw a fan of brown hair, suddenly flying like on a wind and felt drops of synthetic blood hitting his face. Then, he understood.

He wasn't the target, and neither was poor Willy.

"Cam... eron...", he whispered, his throat dry.

She didn't respond. One eye, looking from a half-destroyed, bloodied face was staring at the ceiling emptily.

* * *

Afterword:

_Alright. I know the ending is harsh, i really do. Jt was meant to be harsh and shocking, and if You feel that way right now, then it's my success. I also can't promise the third chapter to be much lighter, honestly. It'll be a bit serious and more focused inwards, then out. Character development etc._

_ What i can promise, however, is that there are many surprises still left and the ending, after the 4th chapter, should prove very satisfactory. It did for my native readers at least._

_ Sarah's death scene is one of the things making this fic a sligh AU. I'm not a big fan of her dying of cancer and i really wanted to give her a death i believe she always wanted. Meaningful and victorious._

_ Thanks for the reviews once more, hope to hear from You all again, after this chapter._


	3. Chapter 3

Foreword:

_Took longer this time, life stepped in._

_ Initially i wanted to translate all of it in one go, so i could release it without holding people in place after the third chapter, which may be a tough spot to stay, but since it took longer then expected already, here it is – the third chapter alone. It's a bit different then the first two, but it's necessary for the story to truly unfold in the final one._

_Aquma, 16.06.2010  
_

_

* * *

_

*** Chapter III ***

It was probably the longest 30 seconds in private Liam Craig's life. It was also, definitely, one of the weirdest. When the gunshot surprised him, like it did everyone else, the boy instinctively fell to the rocky earth. Only after a moment was he able to see the pointlessness of this. Staying here, on the high shelf they were an easy target, even lying low.

"General!", he screamed, "General, we have t..."

Words died out in his throat.

The time, he felt like, stopped in its place.

First General John Connor, hero and saviour of mankind was sitting on the earth, holding a motionless figure of his cybernetic protector in his arms. His hand touching delicately the unscathed part of her face, stroking her hair, he lowered his own face down, and when he did, Craig saw such an autenthic image of suffering that his heart threatened to break inside his chest. He looked at the few diamond drops of moisture falling on Cameron's cheek and heard a slight whisper but he couldn't – and didn't want to – hear the general's words.

And then, the world reached the edge of its madness.

Liam looked with a mixture of terror and fascination as his idol and leader's lips touched the lips of the machine in his arms.

_It's true..._, he realized with a sudden clarity. _He's really... it's... they..._

He'd heard gossip before, of course. Everyone who was stationed in one of the bases Connor frequented heard the gossip. It was everywhere. _Connor fucks metal_, his squad mate's words sounded in Craig's head painfully. Liam just never really gave those words any credit, assuming it was the fear talking, The mystery behind Cameron driving people mad. She was always with him, from the very beginning, by his side in every place he went to, like a shadow. If she looked... normal, noone would've probably cared that much. But she looked like a woman, a young, beautiful girl and it was bound to spark a reaction.

He had a slight suspicion there might be a grain of thruth in it all when he first laid his eyes on her. Now, however, his suspicion was slowly turning into a certainty.

He felt dizzy.

It wasn't even because of any particular hatred for the machines serving Tech-Com, because Craig was a bit different in this regard then most of the others. He didn't like them, that's for sure, but he had a certain respect for them, at least. Many times he saw them, saving lives of his fellow soldiers, sometimes paying the ultimate price in the process. Of course, he knew it was because of their programming, but then again, so was their initial intent to kill them all, programmed by their creator and master. He also saw something in the machines reprogrammed by Connor, something he couldn't exactly name. It was as if he opened their eyes to more then fighting and killing. He gave them names, shaped their personalities. It was still slavery, since they didn't have much of a choice, but at the same time it was like a second chance. A chance to be more then just a metal monster. If, and it was still a big 'if' in Craig's eyes, they could live up to it. That chance, in nothing more, was what they deserved, though, also in the private's eyes.

No, it wasn't hate. It was just... _it was sick, _crossed his mind_, unnatural_. Unnatural even for a normal man, a hundred times more so for John Connor.

Before he could go deeper into his thoughts about relationships – _ugh_ – between man and machine, time kindly reminded about itself, denying his initial notion about it standing still.

General Connor delicately lied the cyborg's body down, then he straightened slowly.

"John...?", Savannah started, also unsteadily getting up, "John... i'm so sorry..."

"Save it for later.", he cut her off with a wave of his hand, his tone turning her pale. "Or for never."

He looked at her, and Liam felt himself shiver. He didn't mention the danger again. A notion that this man could not be aware of it suddenly seemed so absurd that he didn't even want to contemplate it. Downstairs, he heard all hells breaking loose, one officer barking orders to soldiers, another trying to control the panic.

Connor didn't pay any attention to that.

"I'll need a blanket. Or a bedsheet.", he added, with his eyes still on Savannah and still in that ice-cold, emotionless voice and the woman turned back and started climbing down the ladder, without a word.

Looking at him now Liam, for the second time today, had an impression that he's seeing the man for the first time in his life. He wasn't the same hard, demanding yet kind man he talked to and laughed with only a dozen or so minutes ago. He also wasn't the crying, broken – _lover? _- he saw just a few seconds ago. His eyes moved over Liam and he, once again, felt himself shiver. This, was a Leader. A Strategist. A man that made life costing decisions almost every day. This was the man who's sole purpose in life was teaching the diabolical AI that crushed mankind two things. Frustration. And fear.

The man who was succeeding at it.

And now, he was in a fury. A cold, analytic, completely inhuman fury.

The private looked at the straightened, powerful shape standing still and staring, like a machine, without a single blink of an eye at a point above Liam's head. He could almost see a chessboard, filling up with figures and pawns, behind those terrifying, green eyes.

Craig slowly turned his head and looked at the place that, he thought, his general's eyes were boring holes in. A small curve of the stone, not even a cave...

_The shot_, he understood, finally,_ This must be where the shot came from..._

Suddenly, he found himself a very lucky man. He was happy his life turned out as it did. That he wasn't the one with a weapon in his hand, the one who fired that bullet. At this particular moment in time there weren't many worse places to be he could come up with.

"I'll also need a line, Craig.", Connor spoke without tearing his eyes from his target and Liam felt his body jumping to follow the order even before the words were fully out.

Slowly climbing down, he saw the general's eyes turning back to the unmoving shape of Cameron, softening. Slightly.

He sighed, shaking his head. He really didn't know what to think about all of this anymore.

* * *

_The world was burning._

_ John always imagined this moment to be something grand, dramatic in its terror. He imagined himself seeing mushroom clouds on the horizon, watching nuclear missiles flying towards the doom of a civilization. It was nothing like that. Just an old, gray nuclear shelter and a few satellite photos from an hour ago._

_ Yet, the world was burning. Judgement Day came._

_ The boy grabbed the chair in front of him so strongly that his knuckles paled. "We failed.", he whispered. "I failed..."_

_ He felt tears welling up in his eyes, he fought them of, however. This wasn't a time for tears, it was a time to rise your head and face what the future brought. He wasn't like all the other people, it was painfull for him but it wasn't a blinding shock. He knew this day would come, after all._

And i failed to do anything to change that._, he thought bitterly._

_ Suddenly he felt someone's arms, hugging him from behind and crossing at his belly. _

_ "Mom...", he started. "I'm not a kid anym..."_

_ "Sarah is in the hygienic sector.", he heard behind him, "Hot, running water helps her fight off high stress levels."_

Cameron.

_He coughed slightly._

_ "Could you please tell me", he said finally, getting his voice back "What exactly are you doing now?"_

_ "I'm hugging you.", she answered calmly._

She's hugging me. Duh.

_"Yes. I've noticed.", he resumed, trying a different route. "But why? What for?"_

_ She seemed to think about it for a moment._

_ "Physical contact enhances the production of endorphins in a brain.", Cameron answered, hugging him tighter and resting her head, a little bit awkwardly, on his shoulder. Auburn hair spilled over him, smelling of peaches. "Endorphins are responsible for the level of happiness, self-satisfaction. Other things affecting their production rates include chocolate and..."_

_ "I know!", he stopped her, feeling his face turning red. "I know what endorphins are."_

_ "They reduce stress levels.", she added, a fact that seemed important for her._

_ The youngster sighed slightly, gathering his strenght to turn and take her off him. A moment later, however, to his own surprise, he found out that he actually didn't have that kind of power today. _A psychotic AI had just fired nuclear missiles that are going to kill over 3 billions of people._, he though, resigned. _Being hugged by a terminator seems strangely low on the 'mad things' list right now.

_ He remained as he was, even letting himself take her hand into his. _Might as well enjoy it while it lasts.

_"You're wrong, John." he heard after a while of quite comfortable silence._

_ "Huh?"_

_ "It's not your fault.", she explained quietly. " You didn't launch the missiles. Skynet did."_

_ "We've tried to stop it from being created for the last few years, Cameron.", he sighed tired and angry that she had to brought it up. "We failed."_

_ "Yes. We failed.", she agreed. "But it doesn't mean __you failed your mission."_

_ He felt his anger strengthening, running inside him like a river. His hand clenched on her own way too strongly, nails digging into flesh. If she was human, she would've taken it away in pain. She wasn't. And she didn't._

_ "3 billions of people dead doesn't mean i failed?", he spoke in a hard, ice cold tone. "God, i wonder what _can _be called a failure in your eyes, then."_

_ "Everyone dead.", he heard her answering. "Or you."_

_ John almost felt an invisible, impossibly strong force pushing down on his shoulders. Cold shiver ran down his spine._

_ All his life he was getting ready for the Judgement Day and what came after. All his life, in a world supposedly free of fate, he was waiting for his own. He always thought he understood the stakes and he probably really did. Her unrivaled ability to show the facts naked, without any sort of a veil, however, made him realize it now, hearing her words, stronger then ever before in his life._

Me. Or everyone else. Two sides of the scales. No pressure.

_He knew he should answer something, anything, start an argument. He couldn't bring himself to. Words died out in his throat._

_ "John Connor's mission is to defeat Skynet.", Cameron resumed. "Time travelling and stopping its creation was just one of the tactics. One of many battles."_

_ "A hell of a lot of dead in this battle.", he whispered softly, still shaken._

_ "Yes.", she answered simply. "A hell of a lot. But it's still just one battle. You've lost a battle, John. The war has only just began."_

_ A velvet silence returned, interrupted only by a slight hum of a working terminal and a sound of John's shallow breaths, when he fought for the control of himself, fighting off tears welling up in his eyes yet again. He won, once more, and when he spoke, his voice was almost steady._

_ "I don't know what to do, Cam.", he confessed in a whisper, looking at the satellite photo on the screen. "I can't be this John Connor you knew."_

_ He sighed heavily and shook his head._

_ "I'm only nineteen years old. I don't know how to lead and even if i did, no one would've paid any attention to me. I don't know how i'm supposed to organize any sort of a resistance, when everyone will just see a stupid kid looking at me."_

_ "Information is a powerfull thing__, John." she answered, strenghtening her hug slightly, as if to comfort him. "Besides the people you sent back yourself, you're the only one who knows what really happened. And those you sent back are completely loyal to you."_

_ The young man just shook his head once more._

_ "That's what i don't understand the most, Cam. Why would they be loyal to me? Each of them is a seasoned warrior, knowing more about this war then i do, knowing the world after today. Damn, all of them survived _this_ two times! And most of them are old enough to be my father! Why would they want to take orders from me?"_

_ "Wanting has nothing to do with it.", she responded with a tone that suggested she was speaking about how the day always came after the night. "You're John Connor. You'll speak, and they'll listen."_

_

* * *

_

The man raised his head tiredly, returning from the world of memorises and massaging his pained temples. He felt bad today, his migraine attacking with a ferocious strength. He found his eyes trailing to the bedroom once more, where a shrouded body was lying.

He felt inside, that this moment was bound to happen, sooner or later. His people's loyalty was almost unnatural, but after Judgement Day any loyalty would be tried by the hatred for machines. For many years he was somehow managing to keep that hate in shackles, keeping it from hitting his plans. And unleashing on Cameron. There was a first time for everything, however.

"I'm so sorry, Cam.", he whispered softly, his face in his hands. "I'm so fucking sorry..."

A knock on the door tore him away from the melancholy, drowning him like sea depths.

"Come in.", he answered shortly, wiping his face with his hands.

The door opened and a woman came inside, clad in soldier's trousers and a gray t-shirt. She looked quite young and, at first look, quite attractive, with her short raven-black hair and a pretty, classical face. That was the first look, however. After the second one it was hard to miss the emotionless expression or the stiffness of some movements. Whoever she was, human was not on the list.

"General", she saluted, her voice as emotionless as her face. "My orders are fulfilled."

"Message to the base's denizens? When did it reach them?"

"Communicated by major Connley, 11 minutes and 37 seconds ago. 38... 39..."

"I get it.", he stopped her useless countdown. "Let's go then. Pick up what's lying on the bed."

She complied, moving into the bedroom and coming out with a shrouded weight on her shoulder.

"Not like that.", he scolded her. "In front of you, on both arms."

"It's not an optimal way to carry this sort of load.", she answered. "Using both arms instead of the body's support is a waste of ener..."

"Just do it.", he cut her off, irritated.

She complied once more, without further objection and Connor, rising from his armchair, moved to the door. Passing her by he motioned for her to follow with a wave of his hand. His mind was already on what he was going to say and do when he'll reach his destination.

_You're John Connor._, he head a dear voice in his head. _You'll speak, and they'll listen._

He sighed.

Those words came true on many occasions as the years flew by. He was really hoping they would prove true once more today, because what he had to say to his people today, they wouldn't like. They wouldn't like all of it, everything that was going to happen.

_I don't give a fuck._, he thought determined. _Most of them owe her their lives, one way or another, sometimes without even realising it._

He left his quarters, thinking and remembering, going straight into the main cave, with his companion and her weight at his side.

* * *

_"How many did we lose?", asked John Connor calmly, resting his back against a broken body of a sports car. The burning building behind him gave a bright light, casting dark shadows on his sweaty face._

_ "Six, sir. Johnson was hit pretty bad, but he should make it."_

_ "Six...", the man repeated after his soldier. "It could've been worse."_

_ "It could've been a lot worse, John.", he heard Cameron's voice next to him and felt her hand on his shoulder. "It was a big fight. Six men down is more then ten below average for that kind of encounter."_

_ He knew she was right, even if comments like that didn't exactly make her friends among his soldiers._

_ He came to Cambridge with a considerable force, with the intention of searching the old university for any kind of knowledge that could be salvaged. Now, when the scales of war were turning more and more in their favour, he could slowly start dedicating resources to secure at least part of what humanity lost on the day the bombs fell. In Connor's eyes, getting humanity up from its knees was almost as important as defeating the enemy who knocked it down in the first place. And besides, a very well equipped university could become an efficient battle outpost, with a bit of honest work and John came to see if it was worth it to dedicate efforts to that end._

_ Cameron was against it, of course. She was always against when he so much as mentioned getting out into the field. With all that knowledge about human psychology contained in her memory, she still couldn't understand why he couldn't have sent the squad under a diffrent command. And he just couldn't, not while being so close to the target himself. She also couldn't understand his need to just feel the rifle in his hands, sometimes, to feel like a normal soldier. Besides, his people needed it too. His constant presence on the battlefield was what fueled the legend and inspired their loyalty._

_ The general expected enemy resistance of course, and his expectations proved correct. The numbers and power of it, however, was almost a surprise, reaching the upper limits of his estimates. The encounter that took place was in reality a small battle, and that was probably how it'll be remembered. Tech-Com's overwhelming military success, however, turned a bit sour when they learned that most of the intellectual and scientific riches they were hoping to gain were destroyed. By Skynet or, more probably, by humans themselves._

They're doing what they can, to turn back into monkeys. _, he though with an irony, scowling. The only thing they got was paper, which always valuable and a few trinkets. And the campus itself, mostly untouched, which he hoped to use in the future. _

_ "Alright.", he sighed moving his eyes over the burning battlefield. Raising his arm he moved his finger in a circle. "Tend to the wounded, as best as you can and we move out."_

_ He stretched lazily, feeling fatigue creeping into his muscles._

_ "I'd like to be in our camp by daw...", he tried adding but suddenly, Cameron's finger touched his lips, stopping him. She was standing close, her head slightly tilted, eyes focused on the building behind his back. One of the soldiers looked away, mumbling something incomprehensible under his breath._

Go fuck yourself._, Connor thought irritated, looking at him over his cyborg's shoulder. He found himself struggling with a childish desire to lick her finger to spite the soldier further. A very long second later, however, passing his little test for maturity he finally asked. "Yes, Cam?"_

_ "I hear something, John. From the building. Second floor.", she answered without turning her eyes off the burning structure behind his back. "Crying. A child, 7 to 9 years old.", she added, tiltling her head slightly to the other side, which made her look like a listening puppy. "Closer to 7, probably."_

_ The general narrowed his eyes._

_ It was a Skynet tactic, known for years. Before they learned better, many soldiers fell victim to their own kindness, heroism or, in some cases, maternal instinct. A machine, sometimes damaged, sometimes fully operational would hide in an appropriate ruin and imitate a chlid's cry, luring those who listened to their hearts. What happened later was easy to guess. Damaged ones detonated, functional started a bloodbath for their surprised victims._

_ This scene was fitting that scenario ideally. If there indeed was a child there, however..._

_ "Check it.", he said, looking into her eyes and squeezing her hand a little. "But please be careful."_

_ "I always am.", she responded simply, hanging her rifle over the shoulder and breaking into a run in the direction of the building. She stopped near the door and seemed to consider the best way up for a moment, then took a running start and jumped, grabbing the windowsill and climbing up, methodically._

It's easy to climb when you can thrust your fingers into the stone when you need to..._, John thought with amusement, but when she reached the window on second floor, his hands grabbed the fabric of his trousers nervously._

_ He waited, holding his breath, watching his cyborg disappear inside. His heart was beating so loudly he could hear and count each thump._

_ He counted to eight when her head emerged from the window, followed by the rest of her body with a little girl, 7 years of age perhaps, held in one of her arms. Climbing down with only one free hand proved a little bit more complicated, but it was also mercifully short, because his friend conquered only one floor and then hanged on her arm and let off, hugging the child to her strongly in the air to absorb most of the impact._

_ Only when her feet touched the earth, did he allow his breath to finally come out._

_ And then she turned back and he felt himself forgetting to take another one, his mouth opening slightly without his consent._

_ Cameron was coming their way, rifle on her back, flames illuminating her figure from behind, wind blowing through brown hair and making sparks dance like fireflies around her. Child, still tightly nestled into her cried softly. And when she raised her hand and uncertainly, gently brushed the girls's hair with just the tips of her fingers she looked so unreal, so beautifully human and unhumanly beautiful that for a while John could only watch her, hypnotized._

God... it's so fucking unfair. _, he sighed finally deep inside his soul, breaking the spell. He alone knew what he meant by it._

_ A sudden and deep unfairness of the universe was slightly moderated, however, when he turned his head and saw a whole improvised camp of soldiers watching silently, despite their will, the heavenly sight in the middle of hell itself._

_

* * *

_

Standing in the middle of a line of soldiers, Liam Craig wondered what the hell was going on. Ordered by John Connor, in the central cavern of the mine gathered most of the people living here on a daily basis. Together they were several thousand people, most of them military, now whispering nervously and looking around for any kind of an answer.

The reason for their agitation was that situations like that didn't happen often. Aside from an occasional holiday, the only occasions to gather was when the First General ordered it, wanting to speak to his people in person, without whole chain of command getting in the way. And that never happened without a very good reason. Like a big battle drawing close, or a celebration of one that recently ended in humanity's favour.

Craig didn't remember of any big battles happening lately. He also heard nothing about any going to happen in near future.

And then, when he was already mulling different scenarios over in his mind, he saw the man of the hour rising to a platform that was prepared for him beforehand. Behind him trailed a military-clad, short haired woman he'd never seen before, carrying...

_Oh..._, it struck him. _Oh fuck, how stupid can i be? Of all the people here i should be the one to know. I was the one seeing him then..._

General walked silently to the balustrade, his eyes moving stoically over the crowd of his subordinates. Behind his back, the strange, empty-faced woman lied the body she carried down on a special dais. Then she moved back a little and stood still, watchful like a guard dog. Without emotion, without mercy, but with limitless patience.

The powerfull figure on the platform rose a hand slightly and suddenly, all whispers stopped. Nothing more was needed, not even words.

"I understand many of you are still wondering what's happening.", a strong voice resounded in the cave. "Let me clear things up for you."

His eyes scanned the crowd slowly. When they touched Craig, he felt himself shivering slightly, felt as if those eyes pierced him to the very soul, like a spear. Seconds later, when the gaze released him he saw his neighbour straightening and understood, that he wasn't a solitary case. Everyone seemed to feel as if that stare was aimed at them.

"This...", said the First General finally, in that icy tone of his. "... is a funeral. A hero's funeral."

Instinctively, private expected some kind of a reaction after those words. An attack of mass hysteria, anger, screams, something like that. Nothing happened. Just a stunned silence and if anything, it seemed to thicken even more when people held their breaths, analyzing what they've just heard.

"Cameron Phillips was at my side longer then any of you.", general spoke once more. "For many, many years she protected me tirelessly from the attacks of her old brothers. It's ironic, that in the end, after surviving all that, each attack, each assassination attempt and each mission i've sent her on, she died at the hand of a man. She died on duty."

The man raised his hand, slowly straightening his fingers. A single, huge shell fell on the floor at his feet, bouncing with a ghostly, metallic sound.

"At the hands of one of you.", he added so quietly that if not for the velvet silence and natural acoustics, probably no one would've heard it.

Gaze that fell on them after those words made the one before seem friendly in comparison. Craig felt something inside him, something small and primal, trying to run instinctively, even though he knew those eyes weren't directed at him. _Or were they?_ He shrugged, trying not to imagine what the real culprit must feel right now.

"I know that most of you wouldn't be here, if not for the order.", Connor continued. "Thankfully, however, democracy died on Judgement Day, along with half of humanity."

He waved his hand at the woman behind him and she picked up something from the ground and started to disperse it on the shrouded body.

"In this base, as in any other where people listen to my voice, _my_ word is the law.", he concluded, still facing his people. "And my word says that it's your damned duty to be here today. If anyone would like to leave, please go ahead. I expect you to be out of the base in the space of two hours, turning military equipment over before you leave."

No one moved. Where would they go?

"I also know you heard that the one who's got her blood on his hands signs his handiwork with God's word." , he said again, taking something out of his pocket. "It's true. It is, however, a twisted word. Incomplete, because he cuts pieces out for his own needs. Even I, despite not being a believer, can see that."

He raised a piece of paper to his eyes.

_**"Beware of false prophets who come disguised as harmless sheep but are really vicious wolves."**_

...sounded in the cave.

"Do any of you know what's missing? Those of you who attend the sermons, can you show the mistake, see through the cleverness and manipulation?", Connor asked, still in that same, cold tone.

This finally sparked a reaction in the crowd. No one answered, however.

"Anyone?"

Whispers and murmurs could be heard here and there when people tried to get what their leader was talking about.

"By their fruit you will recognize them.", he finally answered his own question., "The last and missing sentence."

The man shook his head. "By their fruit you will recognize them."

Silence fell on the room again, like a funeral shroud, when people unconsciously surrendered to the magic of the moment, to the power of his voice, his personality.

"Cameron was not a wolf disguised as sheep.", he picked up after a while. "She did more for you then anyone else present, perhaps anyone at all. Not only defending me, but also giving you hope, giving you weapons and working to make your lives better."

Once again murmurs circled the cave. This time they sounded shocked. The man, however, paid them no attention, continuing.

"Did any of you ever wonder, how is it possible that in the space of a month after we got our hands on the first skynet plasma weapons, we managed to reverse-engineer that technology, understand it and make it useful for us? Have you ever wondered where does the power used in those far away outposts come from? You know they are too far from Serrano to benefit and the infrastructure is ruined. Some of you even know the power comes from converted terminator power cells. But _how _did we manage to convert those cells to fit our own purpose?", a sharp look pierced them once more. "Or did you really believe that a shattered shadow, just barely standing on its feet, the one we call "humanity", has such good scientists?"

Implications of what he said hit them like a wave, leaving only shocked silence behind. Craig felt his own, icy disbelief creeping up on him.

"It was her handiwork. Her idea and her scientific team. And that was how she spent her _free_ time, when she knew i was safe and in no need of her help."

He raised a hand above his head and Craig saw an unlit flare held in it.

"She defended you, and saved your lives. And now she's dead.", Connor said, firing the flare up. A bright, red light illuminated the platform. "Because of yo..."

A wild, pained shriek filled the hall. In one place the crowd seemed suddenly agitated, people falling into people cursing and then a solitary figure stormed out.

A small, childish figure with a tear-streaked face and dark, disheveled hair.

The child could've been 7, perhaps 8 years old and Craig had seen her before. Her name was Ally and he knew only that she was a mute war orphan many of the more soft-hearted soldiers took a liking to. A sweet, dear child the place was always full of.

Ally climbed on the platform and crashed forcefully into the shrouded body, with a loud cry. And when she did that, Craig saw that for the first time since all of this started, Connor seemed surprised.

No. Not surprised. Shocked. And Liam could've sworn he saw tears in his eyes too...

* * *

_"I do not require food to opearate", Cameron explained looking at the smiling face of a 7 years old girl and the red lollipop presented in front of it in a small fist._

_ Child shook her head energetically and with a decisive gesture, once again pushed the sweet in her direction._

_ "I don't understand.", the cyborg responded. "You want me to take it? Even though i don't need it?"_

_ The girl nodded her head resolutely, met with yet another consternated look on Cameron's face._

_ "It would be more usefull to you. I do not require food to operate.", she repeated once more, with a patience typical for an almost immortal machine._

_ Observing the situation from a little distance, John shook his head with amusement._

_ "It's a gift, Cam.", he said walking towards them. "Lollipops are a rarity, kids get them only when soldiers find some during a patrol. Ally's trying to give you, what she's got best. It's her way of thanking you for saving her life._

_ The child sighed with a bright smile on her face and looked at him with gratitude._

_ "Oh." , answered the endowed. "Thank you for explaining."_

_ Turning back to Ally, she knelled in front of her and took the offered lollipop, finally. "And thank you for the present."_

_ As an answer the child rose her eyebrows, expectant, and Cameron once again looked helplessly at John._

_ "She probably wants you to try it."_

_ The girl nodded her head energetically once again._

_ Cyborg nodded too, then slowly, carefully unfolded the lollipop, slipping it into her mouth afterwards. Ally's face was slowly brightened by a smile._

_ "Thank you.", the machine said seriously, looking at her. "It's a tight present."_

_ And when the child jumped happily, throwing her hands around his friend's neck and cuddling into her breast, when confused Cameron stroked her hair, hugging back and smiling slightly, John suddenly felt that despite all its shortcomings the world wasn't so bad a place after all..._

_

* * *

_

John Connor felt tears burning under his eyelids.

Ally. Last life saved by his Cameron. They found her during an action in Cambridge, only a few weeks back. Mute, as Savannah suggested, probably because of a deep shock, the girl was often hanging around his friend, evidently feeling a connection to her, which Cam didn't fully understand. It was funny, from one perspective, but it was also deeply moving from another, completely different one.

_Poor child... _, he thought, suddenly regretting some of his more recent decisions. Then, taking control, he shook his head, kneeling by her and stroking her back gently.

_What happened, happened._

The girl turned to him finally, still crying and he hugged her, picking up and holding on one arm. In the other he picked up the dropped flare, still burning in red.

He looked at the dais, at the body lying before him and sighed, closing his eyes and throwing the flaming object at the shroud, hugging Ally stronger at the same time, trying to keep her face away from the fire with his hand. Then he turned back, looking at his people once more.

Flames erupted behind him, dancing as he stood in front of them in silence for a long while. When he finally decided to speak again, his voice carried like thunder through the cave.

"There are two things i have yet to tell you.", he motioned the woman behind him to come closer with a gesture.

"Firstly", he continued putting his hand on the woman's shoulder. "This is Taria. Starting today she's taking over Cameron's duty. She'll be my protector, my voice and my right hand. She's not human, of course."

Calmly, with determination he watched their faces, the obvious disbelief and shock apparent on them. He could almost see their minds wondering why, once more, his right hand is a machine, and why, once more, it looks like an attractive young woman. His face betrayed absolutely nothing.

"Secondly." he started once more after a short while. "I've got a message for the one among you, who has Cameron's blood on his hands. In a language he'll hopefully understand."

He closed his eyes for a moment, silently gathering all his rage, all the hate he could possibly find, so it could flow on an icy torrent towards the target of his words.

_**"An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth."**_

... said John Connor before he turned back and silently walked off his platform, with the child still in his arms.

* * *

Delicate shining of the terminal's screen was the only light source in the room, which caused figures standing in front of it to cast dangerous shadows over their chessboard.

"Pawn to E3.", said John Connor, moving his black figure with two fingers.

_E3? Middle of the field?_

...showed up on the screen in an answer.

"Mhm."

_A brave start. Suggests a bold tactic. Pawn to A6._

The man smiled, moving white pawn to the indicated place.

It was going to be an interesting game...

* * *

Afterword:

_Just one more and everything will be clear. _

_If You took time to read this, please drop me a line or two. I would like to know what You liked and disliked._

_P.s. Thanks to XxDeathStarxX for reviewing the second chapter._

_Aquma, 16.06.2010  
_


	4. Chapter 4

Forword:

_ I hope You'll like it and the story will prove to be satisfying._

_ A friendly warning: a lot of 'f' words near the beginning._

_ Aquma, 16.06.2010_

_

* * *

_

*** Chapter IV ***

"You think he fucks her?", said private William Draill sitting back on his chair. "Fucks _it_, i mean. The second _it_. Fuck.", he cursed. "You know what i mean."

Sitting opposite to him, Liam Craig threw a passing look at him, but didn't comment in any way. His mind circled around different things today, he couldn't even concentrate on poker that much.

..._Ally climbed on the platform and crashed forcefully into the shrouded body, with a loud cry..._

He shook his head and drank a solid gulp from his glass of hooch.

"I'm not sure even your mother knows what you mean, Will." laughed sergeant Rogers, sitting to his right. "But yeah. I think he fucks her. Machine, i mean, not your mother.", he burst out laughing again, punched heavily in the shoulder by the younger soldier. "I see no other reason to keep a metal that looks like a pretty ass around. Second in a row, too."

"Maybe he likes the aesthetics.", fourth at the table, private Petterson, proposed. "He doesn't necessarily have to bang her."

_ ...his hand touching delicately the unscathed part of her face, stroking her hair, he lowered his own face down, and when he did..._

"Poker, guys?", reminded Craig irritated and swallowed another sip of his hooch. "Checking.", he threw his cards on the table, a three of tens showing up in the electric light.

"Ha! A party on the girls!", Petterson roared with a huge smile on his ugly face, throwing a full on damsels and nines and gathering the pile of polished stones to his side.

"Fuck.", Draill commented while the sergeant just belched horribly with hooch and dinner cabbage.

"You deal now, Craig.", he said and Liam took the cards and started shuffling, nodding his head.

"I think he does fuck her.", Draill started once more, a topic that seemed to interest him a lot today. "He looks like it."

_...he looked at the few diamond drops of moisture falling on Cameron's cheek and heard a slight whisper..._

"You're just still pissed on him for those latrines.", Petterson answered him.

"And you still smell like shit.", Rogers added helpfully and then both of them burst out laughing.

"Sure i'm fucking pissed!", the private growled. "Whole week of fucking latrine scrubbing. And i'm to believe there wasn't a reason for that? I'm telling you, for fucks's sake, it's because i spat at her feet."

"Perhaps.", the sergeant agreed. "Perhaps it is, at that."

"It fucking is.", continued Draill, pissed. "And i'm telling you, he was definitely fucking her. He's fucking that new one too, probably."

_...looked with a mixture of terror and fascination as his idol and leader's lips touched the lips of the machine in his arms..._

Liam's hand crumpled the cards he was holding.

"Where does he get them from, anyway?", asked the sergeant, intrigued. "Each one a bigger mystery then the last. No one fucking knows them, no one has fucking seen them being captured. He's got some kind of a secret sex workshop or something?"

_Fuck... _, Craig growled in his thoughts. _Fuck.. it..._

Draill was just going to answer when that chance was suddenly taken from him.

The crackle of breaking glass mingled with a roar of an overthrown table. Cards danced in the air like falling leaves, Petterson's valued stones spilling all over the floor. In the center of all that chaos stood Liam Craig, his face red with anger, taking one deep breath after the other.

"Fuck!", he screamed aloud, finally.

"Craig? What the fu...", the sergeant started.

"Shut up! Shut your fucking mouth!", the youngster hissed, throwing an accusing finger at him. "Who the fuck do you think you're talking about? If not for him, all of you fuckers would be nothing now! Fucking nothing!"

He turned to Draill with a barely contained fury.

"You wouldn't have to clean any fucking latrines. You would live in one, eating rats for fucking dinner, afraid of each fucking day!"

The victim of his anger just blinked, still accommodating to the new, surprising situation.

"And you...", Craig turned to the sergeant again. "You would still be shooting people on the highways, raping whatever got into your hands and hunting dogs for fucking meat."

Rogers' eyes narrowed dangerously.

"So the least you could do, you fucking pricks, is to show some respect for the man that saved your useless lives. Who gave you a hope and a purpose!", Craig resumed again, still shaking. "A minimum of fucking respect!"

"I don't like your tone, Craig.", growled Rogers, finally. "I don't like it at all."

"I don't give a shit about what you like.", the youngster responded, picking up an overthrown chair and taking his jacket off it. "And you know what?"

He walked to the door and yanked the handle angrily.

"I don't give a shit about your poker either.", he added and the roar of crashing doors only stressed his words.

* * *

Cold stone against his forehead was slowly calming his emotions. Craig knew his reaction was, delicately speaking, harsh. Harsher then the situation required, perhaps. Gossip about Connor and metal lovers was a normal thing, after all, everyday's bread. It didn't stop his people from respecting him in everything else or even sacrificing their life with his name on their lips, when it was required.

On the other hand... it was John Connor. The man who, after everything had gone to hell, gave humanity a chance which it was slowly, under his leadership, taking advantage of. Wiping your mouth with his name while drinking hooch and playing a poker game was something that tugged on Liam's nerves like few things were able to.

Problem was, making scenes and starting arguments wasn't what he should be doing. He was supposed to gain their trust, and now he was succeeding at the exact opposite.

_It just isn't fair._ , he shook his head tiredly, irritation still blooming inside. _It's not fair to talk about him like he was some kind of a pervert, building sex dolls in his basement._

Especially since he wasn't. Liam remembered it well, the look on his face there, on that rocky shelf where his cyborg was shot. It wasn't the face of a man who lost a toy...

_He loved her..._, Craig thought again, not knowing still wheter the fact made him feel more sad or terrified. What he knew, however, was that for some reason it made his squadmates' words even more aggravating.

"Private Liam Craig.", he suddenly heard to his right, more a statement then a question.

He turned in that direction only to meet an emotionless gaze of her dark eyes.

She looked just like when he saw her the first time, in those military trousers and a gray t-shirt. Her dark hair also looked the same, classical face as empty as ever.

Taria. General's new bodyguard.

He wasn't sure what to think of her. He didn't give any credit to his poker-mates' suspicions, but at the same time he couldn't understand why his idol chose her specifically either. The fact was, she was indeed unknown and she hasn't been captured by the soldiers of this base, that's for sure. She was a mystery, just like Cameron.

"General Connor wants to talk to you, Mr. Craig.", said the mystery in her monotonous voice.

_Now, of all times... _, he sighed inside. _When i smell like a cheap brewery... Perhaps he heard about the argument somehow..._

"General wants, general gets.", he answered tiredly, however. "Lead the way."

* * *

Looking at the private standing in the middle of his office, John furrowed his brows. He didn't even need to sniff too hard to smell the vile soldier hooch from the boy. He also noticed his hair was disheveled and his clothes carried hard evidence of a long evening.

"I'm sorry, sir." said the youngster, seeing his face. "No time to change. Didn't want to keep you waiting, sir."

"Forget it, Craig.", Connor sighed. "It's your free time, after all. And, truth be told, i was the one that expected you to bond with your fellow soldiers."

Remark met a slight smile on the boy's face.

"Sit down, please.", general added and the private did so, if ever so slightly, on the edge of the armchair opposite to him. Boy's eyes skipped, for a moment, towards the chessboard lying on his desk, in front of a terminal.

"A fierce game, sir?" he asked, counting the figures and assessing their positions.

"Very. A demanding opponent.", the man answered. "Do you play?"

Craig shook his head slightly.

"I know the basics. My father thought me.", he explained. "He was an officer, sir. In the old army."

"I know. I read your file."

The boy just nodded his head.

"Play with me sometime, Craig.", the officer said. "Chess are a noble game and so few are left who know how to play nowadays. It's a skill that should be cultivated."

The boy's eyebrows jumped so high that, for a moment, Connor almost expected them to escape his face. Blue eyes stared at him in a wide, surprised look.

"I would be honored, sir.", he finally answered. "I'm afraid, however, that i wouldn't be much of a challenge."

"Training is what shapes a master, boy. You have to start somewhere."

A smile brightened the young face.

"I would be honored, sir.", he repeated, and the man just nodded his head.

He looked at him in silence for a while. The boy was young, but John knew younger soldiers. He had good, healthy reactions and clever eyes with a fire inside, that John had seen already lacking in the souls of many withered veterans. And he was loyal. Fiercely loyal. _He'll be alright._, he decided at last, meeting the boy's gaze.

"Situation has changed since we last spoke in this office.", Connor resumed after a while. "I've also heard about your little... argument."

The boy reddened slightly.

"Ah...", he started. "Well... that didn't go that well. I lost control, sir. I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it, Craig.", the older man replied. "Truth be told, it's part of the reason i summoned you here today."

The youngster looked at him expectantly, still a little nervous though.

"It seems i won't need your help as a spy, after all. The flow of events forced me into a different approach. A different tactic.", the general said finally. "I've got a different proposition for you, however. And a mission, if you accept it."

His fingers drummed methodicaly on his desk.

"I'm ready for duty, sir.", private replied, which, coupled with his shaken looks and smell sounded a little funny, but then again also sparked a deep respect for the boy inside John's heart. "And sir... i'm sorry.", Craig added after a moment. "For your loss."

It was the older man's turn now to look surprised. Then he smiled slightly and nodded his head. _I'm really starting to like him._ , he thought, confirming his choice once more.

"Thank you. Don't jump to duty so hastily though. At least not before i tell you what it's all about.", he said, sliding a folder in the boy's direction. "And take a look at this."

Craig did. And he listened. His eyes becoming larger with each sentence.

* * *

When doors closed behind the boy, Connor sat back in his armchair and closed his eyes for a moment. A delicate smile crept on his face. He was almost sure Craig would agree and it felt nice to know he judged the boy's character right. He was just hoping he judged his skills equally well, but there was no better way to know then to test them. For the time being, everything seemed to go along the lines of his plan.

"Knight to G5.", he said, opening his eyes and moving the figure with his hand casually.

_Another bold move. You are very reckless in this game._

... a communicate on the screen answered him.

The man smiled again, a smug smile, somehow reminding of a cat.

"Recklessness is my second name.", he said, with his eyes still on the board.

* * *

Sergeant Dmitri Wasiljew spat. He wasn't having a good day. Truth be told, not a single day spent above, on the wasteland, all that was left from what was once the proud humanity's kingdom, was good for him. The place, littered with ruins and overgrown with short, yellowy grass naturally didn't inspire joy. And then, there was the damned sun.

_It's march, for fuck's sake._, he thought, irritated. _It should be cold and comfy, not hot like in the middle of a fucking summer._

Also, despite the fact that the surroundings and weather would've been enough, today he had more reasons to be irritated.

The mission itself was quite typical. A quick trip to one of the radio masts, only a fifteen or so miles away from the base, typical, periodic maintenance and also installation of a new dish antenna, that according to techs should enhance the reach, allowing Connor's voice to travel to more pairs of ears.

Problem was, a day before the mission some greenhorn got added to his squad. From what he knew, the boy got into a fight with his previous squad's sergeant and asked for a transfer. He was a bit young, but supposedly served since his fifteenth birthday and actually seemed quite alright. He was a variable, however, and Wasiljew hated variables.

And then, there was her.

The man looked at the stoic, dark haired 'girl' from under his furry brows. She was standing a little away, unshakable as always. The burning sun, that gave hell to both him and his men didn't affect her at all, of course, which only irritated the sergeant more.

Connor's new metal.

Of course, he worked with machines more then once. There was even a time when he served in a mission with general's previous bodyguard. This new machine, however, Wasiljew didn't know. It was a variable. And he didn't like those.

_That's probably why he sent her..._, he sighed. _To get people used to her, bit by bit._

"How long?", he asked the Chief Tech, who supervised the maintenance.

"An hour, at least.", came in reply. "I'm sorry, sarge. Can't go faster."

"Alright.", Wasiljew growled under his nose. "Don't try too hard. If i have to come back here later because of some fuck up, 'pissed' won't cover my state of mind."

"Sure thing."

Taking his water bottle out, Dmitri walked away a bit, taking a good, long sip. He would've damn liked to splash some over his hand and wet his hair, his experience, however, voted against it. Water was very precious in the wasteland. Sure, they've had enough to last them, but if anything went south and they had to survive for longer, those few drops may mean a life or death difference.

And then, when he was just going to put it back in place, he saw a sparkle with a corner of his eye. Most people wouldn't pay it any attention, his years of training and military experience forced a different approach, however. You didn't survive as long as he did ignoring details.

He looked there, trying to focus his sight. The sparkle returned, sun shining on a...

"Fuck!", he screamed suddenly on full volume, waving his arms. "Get down! Everyone down!"

Following his own order, he heard a loud gunshot and knew it was too late.

Then all hells broke loose.

* * *

He was a Hunter, waiting for his prey. He waited for many hours, hiding on a roof of a long deserted building. He went off just after his associate, his Guardian Angel, passed good news on to him and he got here before dawn, to get everything ready and maximize his chances in the hunt. He used this time to scout the area, setup his position, prepare his rifle, but also to set up thermal charges that were supposed to cover his tracks and help with the escape. He left a shell, last time, and his Angel wasn't pleased. The Hunter didn't expect any troubles, everything should go smoothly, like the last time. Even if there were any problems, the ruins around the squad were open enough to allow a second shot to finish the job.

He sat there, observing how they setup a camp, how the techs worked in sweat, soldiers looking out watchfully. His victim stood motionlessly, her eyes focused far away. Not in his direction, however.

He picked up his rifle and checked if the ammo was inside, once more. Depleted uranium anti-armor rounds were the highest class of such ammunition, made in low quantities by Tech-Com specialists. They could pierce a T-888's armour and had a much longer range then any plasma weapon, making them an ideal choice for snipers, or generally sharpshooters operating at a very long distance. They weren't easy to get, he had his Angel, however.

After checking the weapon he placed it on its support and looked through the telescoping sight, taking aim. Dark-haired blasphemy stood at a slightly different place, still oblivious, however, to the Godly Wrath that would descend on it in mere seconds.

He held his breath, to stabilize his hands as best as he could. He noted the squad leader waving his hands and screaming loudly. It was too late, though.

He squeezed the trigger, taking a shot.

And then, as his bullet reached its target, the Hunter's eyes widened in limitless amazement, which quickly turned into an equally limitless terror.

* * *

Far away, deep inside Carey base, sitting behind his desk John Connor lazily rested his hands on it, putting his chin on his palms and watching the chessboard intently.

_Rook at G5, taking your knight._

... letters on the screen informed him.

"Queen at G5, taking your Rook.", he answered with a smile. "Check."

* * *

It's hard to describe the mind state of a person who's got drops of metal running down his face. You could say that the Chief Tech Martin Sills was shocked. You could probably also add that he was terrified.

All of this, however, wouldn't give the full impression. Perhaps, if the metal was hot, if you added an insufferable pain to the equation, the description would be more or less adequate.

But it wasn't. It was cold as the depths of a sea, which made it all the more frightening.

Drops of cold, liquid metal flowed down his neck and under his shirt, accompanied by his deafening shriek. A moment later they flowed out of his sleeve and fell down to the earth, immediately starting to move again.

"Please remain calm." said the creature, her head slowly forming back before their very eyes.

In response, Martin Sills rolled his eyes and slumped to the ground, out cold.

"Fu...fu... fuck.", the sergeant stuttered, slowly rising his rifle in her direction.

He wasn't alone. Most of the other soldiers did the same, aiming their weapons at the metal monster. The reaction was as natural as it was absurd, since they knew for a fact they couldn't really hurt her. At all. Dmitri felt himself swallowing hard.

For its part, the T-1001 ignored them completely and broke into a run, in the direction of the building, several hundred of feet away, from where the shot must have originated. It ran like a wind, literally soaking through most of the obstacles on its path. Like a liquid death, determined to reach its target.

"Fuck me...", Wasiljew whispered again.

And then he saw the greenhorn, striding calmly to the middle of their camp and rising his hand. Sun shined on an object he held, before it suddenly crackled and a loud, very much recognizable voice came out, bouncing off the ruins acoustically.

_Sergeant Wasiljew, this is John Connor speaking. The young man you see now before you is a White Raven. He has all the needed paperwork on him, but we both decided it would be safer if you heard my voice now, before you'll have a chance to look at them. Your orders stand. You're to finish the maintenance, install the dish and return to Carey. It's absolutely forbidden, i repeat, forbidden to come into any contact with the T-1001 unit you know under the name of Taria. It's on our side. Until the mission's over, Craig will take command of your unit, to make sure there are no problems, just in case. Get them home safely, Liam._

When the voice trailed off, a complete silence fell on them all. Wasiljew looked incredulously at the young, eighteen years old at best, blond boy, who smiled at him apologetically. A White Raven. Spec Ops.

He heard things about the Ravens, even though he didn't have an occasion to work with one before. Composed from those who were most fanatically loyal to Connor, the unit, if it could even be called that, answered directly to him and him only. If his metal bodyguard was his right hand and his voice, then the Ravens were the left. The one hiding a dagger behind his back, sometimes, when it was required. Their missions touched everything that was delicate, hidden or dirty. They were also his way of keeping his hand on the pulse of the things he wanted to supervise personally.

"You heard the general. Get back to work.", Wasiljew said finally, irritated, and then pointed a finger at the poor Chief Tech adding "And get this guy on his feet, somebody."

He turned and looked at his new commanding officer. Temporary, at least.

"So... you're in charge now. Right, Raven?"

"I'm sorry it had to be like that, sergeant. Orders.", Craig answered, offering Dmitri his hand. "Would you like to see those documents now?"

Older man thought for a while before shaking his head slightly and accepting the handshake.

"No, boy.", he sighed "I don't need to. Only Connor could've came up with something like that."

* * *

_Little Billy Evans was running as fast as his feet could carry him. His heart was beating with all its might, his chest fought for every breath, but he still ran. He couldn't stop. He wouldn't! To stop meant to..._

Run Billy!, _he heard his father's scream in his thoughts. _Run!

_He heard shots behind him, many shots echoing like a twisted laughter. His imagination showed him an image of his home, for a moment, of a wall, exploding in red when the metal monster opened fire from his hand-cannon. _No!_, Billy though desperately. _Nooo! Mom was... alright... for sure... she was...

_Tears ran down his face as he ran..._

_ He made it a hundred feet farther, or so, when his feet finally gave up under him, and he crashed painfully, injuring his knees. He knew, however, he had to get up, and tried to do so, when suddenly a loud engine roar came to his ears from the street nearby._

_ Moments later, a powerful armored vehicle stormed out of there, followed by a military jeep with a huge cannon strapped to the roof. Looking at it all, Billy suddenly felt the rest of his strength draining and collapsed into the dirt. He really hoped he'd ran enough. He hoped his daddy won't be angry._

_ One of the men raiding in the jeep suddenly got up, alarmed._

_ "Stop!", he screamed. "Stop, damn it!", he grabbed a shortwave transmitter hanging by his belt and repeated once more. "Stop it, Lort! We've got a live one!"_

_ The vehicle stopped with a groan of crushed debris and two men jumped out of the jeep, running towards Billy who was breathing heavily, fighting with tears._

_ "I wonder how he got here...", said first of them sadly when they got closer._

_ "Probably from the house north of here. I've heard on the line that a T-70 massacred a whole family there.", answered the one with a transmitter._

_ "Poor lad..."_

_ And then the soldier crouched nearby, a few rays of sunshine suddenly illuminating his friendly face, making him look completely unearthly in Billy's eyes._

An angel_, he thought, sighing. _Just like mom said...

_ "Come with me, boy." the man said extending his hand. "Come with me if you wanna live."_

_

* * *

_

The man was running. He was running as fast as his feet could carry him, as fast as only once before in his life. His powerful, trained body worked like a clock, lungs breathing without problems, heart beating rhythmically. He wasn't 7 years old anymore, he wasn't the same weak, frightened boy. He was skilled, brave and well equipped. Yet, against the enemy that was after him today, he was still as helpless as he was then. He knew it, without a shadow of doubt.

The coin turned.

He wasn't the Hunter anymore. Today he was the prey.

He understood that his solitary chance lied in getting out of the building as fast as he could, so he could detonate the charges. The explosion won't destroy his pursuer, of course, but it would give him time and cover his tracks.

Instead of running down the stairs, he jumped over the railing, skipping whole floor with one leap. He landed on his feet, keeping balance and ran again, towards one of the windows. He wasn't going to use the stairs whole way down, he was sure the machine would be waiting for him there. A short climb and a jump from first floor seemed a lot more appealing.

And then, when he was almost at his target, one of the walls suddenly exploded with debris, shining metal claw braking through. A second later whole liquid monstrosity poured inside.

He made a mistake.

He reacted in an instant, tattooed arm reaching to his belt for a grenade. He removed the pin and threw the explosive behind him, at its feet, in one fluid motion and without breaking his run for even a second.

A quiet _swoosh_ sounded behind him, before the building shook with an explosion. Not in the place he expected, however. The grenade made a huge hole in the wall to his right, in a completely different part of the room.

_It reflected it... _, he understood in a moment of clarity. _Damn..._

Feeling his options slowly running thin he made a last furious attempt to reach the window, taking out his detonator at the same time. He covered his face and prepared for a rough jump...

...and then he suddenly felt a sharp pain in his thigh. His muscle gave up and the man crashed heavily into the ground, hitting the windowsill with his head one the way. A moment later the pain flashed again, this time in his hand and he screamed deafeningly, feeling the cold, merciless blade cutting skin, muscle and bone without any difference.

Blood spurted in a small fountain, a bodiless hand fell to the ground, creating a red pool around itself.

"By the order of John Connor, you are under arrest.", he heard a monotonous, emotionless voice and saw a dark haired and dark eyed head above him. With a growing disgust, he also felt something cold and liquid covering his stump, stopping the generous blood loss.

Then the metal beast squeezed his neck in a practiced move, stoping the bloodflow for just a few seconds, and he felt darkness descending on him.

* * *

Slowly opening his eyes, he felt his left arm, just above the wrist pulsate with pain. Pain was also radiating from a wound on his pierced thigh and the fact that he was seated on a hard stool didn't help much. His eyes needed a while to get used to the gloom, but when they finally did it occurred to him there wasn't much to see anyway. A small cave was almost empty, aside from his stool and bucket of water in the corner, along with some bandages, some of which were probably used by someone to dress his wounds.

"Awake at last, Mr. Evans?", he heard her quiet voice behind him. Another man might have jumped at that, Billy, however, wasn't like other men. And he expected it to be here anyway.

He looked with a strange calm as it formed itself in the corner, first taking a mildly humanoid shape, which then filled with the details he knew.

"You're going to torture me, hellspawn?", he asked calmly. "It's a waste of time. I won't talk."

"Everyone talks, Mr. Evans.", the machine answered simply. "But no. I'm not going to torture you. I received no such orders."

"What orders did you recieve?"

"Watch over you.", she answered again. "And wait."

Billy had nothing more to say to his captor. He just closed his eyes and started praying. Prayer always calmed him and gave him strength. And God knew, he needed a lot of strength right now. That wasn't the main reason, though. Mainly, he was praying for someone else...

"Our Father, who art in heaven..." he whispered softly, _don't let them find him..._, hallowed be thy name...", _don't let Connor remember..._, "Thy kingdom come..."

"Prayer.", his guard stated the fact. "One of this... _human_ ... things i can never understand, Mr. Evans."

"Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven..."

"Do you really believe some kind of super-natural, over-logical force will strike me down now, to save your life?"

"Give us this day our daily bread..."

The machine circled him, watching his face intently.

"Or perhaps...", she added after a while. "You're not praying for yourself."

His heart skipped a beat, cold shiver suddenly running down his spine.

"and forgive us... our... trespasses...", his voice broke a little.

"Oh. I guessed right.", the machine smiled, a ghastly, empty, practiced smile of a shop mannequin. "I'm afraid then, that your chances might be even lower. Hard to say, considering the illogical nature of the whole affair."

The prayer stopped, Billy's face paling.

"General Connor needed about 1.7 seconds to understand who he is, when he looked at you.", she continued in a conversational tone. "A very impressive data-processing time, for a human.", she added. "I believe his on his way right now, Mr. Evans. I can't be sure, you understand, being here and watching over you."

Only silence answered her.

"I'm afraid, however, you might be right. A supernatural intervention might be the only hope. General has a tendency to deal his justice swiftly and without mercy."

The man sighed, forcefully closing his eyes.

"His revenge too, for that matter.", the machine clarified after a moment and Billy Evans dropped his head, willing his tears to stop.

* * *

Walking into his office John Connor directed his steps straight to his desk. He was tired, the day was full of events, but despite that, he felt really great. His plans bore fruit. Now came a time of harvest.

"Pawn on H8.", he said, resting himself on his armchair, his eyes on the terminal."I promote a queen."

_You're checking me again._

...appeared on the screen.

"Yes.", he answered. "It's a mate in next round. From the second queen."

_Yes, i can see that. The game is yours, John._

The man just smiled slightly.

_It's 5:5 this month. I can't understand how it's possible for you to defeat me so many times._

_My chess protocol says it's against the statistics. Against logic. You shouldn't be able to do that._

His smile broadened.

"I was born to do that.", he answered simply. "I was born to defeat your kind."

The terminal seemed to have no answer for such an argument. Long seconds flowed by in silence.

"It's time.", John Connor said, finally.

_Yes. It's time._

...was the last message on the screen before it flashed and darkened, turning off.

* * *

Coming into his quarter, lieutenant Larson was, not for the first time, very grateful to Connor for the fact that each acting officer had a private space in the base for his own needs. Soldier's barracks were loud and there were far too many people there for him to feel comfortably. He very much needed his rest today, and he needed to think. He could feel something went wrong. He didn't know what, exactly, but something must have, because Billy would've contacted him already if that wasn't the case.

He didn't even need to turn on the light, he lived in this small room for the last three years, he knew every corner and every foot of this space. Taking his jacket off he put it on a hanger and started towards his bed, unbuttoning his shirt.

"A hard day, lieutenant?", asked a calm voice, suddenly.

He jumped like it burned him, turning right in the direction it came from.

Slowly, a strong-built figure sitting on his armchair emerged to his eyes, when they got used to the darkness.

"General...", he started. "You surprised me. What are you doing in my quarters, sir?"

Deep inside he knew what was the most probable reason of Connor's visit in the middle of night. It was wiser to buy the time when you could, however. _Fuck_, he cursed in his thoughts, as his mind started racing, trying to figure a way out of the situation that really didn't look good.

"Any reason to be afraid of me? Anything you would like to share?", general answered his question with one of his own, something in his tone telling the lieutenant that the time for making a fool of himself was over.

"You got him.", he said simply, shoulders slumping, and the man sitting in his armchair just nodded his head, his features still covered by darkness.

"Where was your head, Larson?.", he asked quietly. "Did you really think i wouldn't get it? That i wouldn't remember who, all those years ago, took care of that boy?"

"Is he...?"

"Alive.", the general answered. "For now."

Larson slowly let the air out of his lungs. Billy was alive. Then everything could be fixed yet. All that was required was to...

His hand moved towards the holster on his belt.

"I wouldn't do it, if i were you.", Connor warned him, without losing his stoic calm for even a moment.

_Oh, how it fucking pisses me off... _, Larson thought, irritated. _He's like... them. Like a fucking machine._

He didn't listen, of course. His hand moved fast. He reached for his plasma gun, took it out in one fluid motion and...

...screamed, when something grasped his arm, crushing it like a glass. His weapon fell to the floor with a deaf knock and at the same time, Larson felt something grabbing his other arm, twisting it painfully behind his back. A second later something also swept his feet from under him and he felt himself falling to his knees before the general, who was still calmly resting in Laron's own armchair.

As the person holding him leaned slightly, he felt a wave of silky hair spilling all over his shoulder and chest. He turned his head, involuntarily and met a pair of huge, brown eyes, boring holes in his face.

_I can't fucking believe it..., _he sighed in shock. _He made himself another one...?_

And then he saw something in her gaze, something that instantly made him realize his mistake. If he wasn't already on his knees, his legs would've probably given up under him.

"How... ?", he managed a quiet whisper.

"I'm a scary robot.", Cameron answered still looking into his eyes, her tone suggesting that should explain everything.

The general laughed softly.

"Does the name Sun Tsu ring any bells, Larson?", he answered a question with a question again, and when the lieutenant looked at him with a non-understanding look, he continued. "He was a chinesse strategist and war theoretician, supposedly living in the six century before Christ. My mother used to read me his works before sleep, in-between Baum's 'Wizard of Oz'.

"War, lieutenant, every war, is based on deception.", the man spoke once more, resting in the armchair. "Look strong when you're weak, to evade an attack. Look weak when you're strong to surprise your enemy.", he looked into Larson's eyes. "Show him only what you want him to see, at the same time showing nothing of what he really should be seeing."

"But i saw...! I saw her taking a bullet! I saw her fucking burn!"

Connor laughed for the second time, this time, however, his mirth didn't touch his eyes, as green as ever and gleaming dangerously in the darkness. Not even for a moment.

"Yes, she took a bullet.", he answered, his voice ice-cold. "If not for the alloy enhancements to her endoskeleton i forced on her a few years back, you might've even succeeded. Thanks to those, however, the bullet destroyed only the interface of her port, leaving the chip itself intact."

He turned his eyes to Cameron, who was still holding the lieutenant in place. His eyes softened, for a slight moment, face changing subtly in a way that made Larson nauseous.

"From that moment on, though... there on that rocky shelf, when i got up from her body.", the general started once more. "You saw only what i wanted you to see. A theatrical play, just for your pleasure."

The lieutenant shook his head, dropping it to his chest.

"All this... all for nothing.", he whispered with resignation.

"Answer me one question. Appease my curiosity.", said Connor and when the kneeling man rose his eyes at him again, he added. "Why?"

Larson shook his head once more, this time incredulously.

"Why?", he growled. "You need to ask?"

"I don't. But i would still like to hear it."

They looked into each other's eyes for a long moment.

"Because it's _sick_, that's why!", roared the lieutenant finally, at the same time feeling the cyborg press on him more strongly. "You depend on them too much Connor! Let them too close!", he shook his head yet again. "I understand the machines' usefulness on a battlefield. A wise tactical decision. I can even understand using them in the machine-room or a laboratory. Their memory never fails and the count like a fucking calculator. But this?" he pointed behind with a move of his head. "It's not normal! It's not fucking normal to keep it at your side, night and day. To eat with it. Talk to it. Play fucking chess with it!"

He spat at the general's feet, looking deep into his eyes with untold contempt.

"To _fuck_ it...", he hissed and the venom in his voice could embarrass a whole den of snakes. "it's not _fucking normal_!"

The man sitting in the armchair looked at him sadly. Lieutenant's tone told him more then any words could have. More then he needed to know.

"So that's what it all comes down to, in the end?", he asked quietly. "You can stomach her fighting for me or being responsible for weapons and equipment your life depends on, but you can't deal with the fact that i could be _sleeping_ with her?

He shook his head as if he couldn't quite believe it.

"It's so trivial.", he added. "So pathetically... _human_."

Larson snorted, but he said nothing. Silence fell on them for a while like a shroud, when both of them thought of what came next.

"You know what's the funniest irony in this all?", Connor asked finally, almost in a whisper.

The lieutenant gave no answer. He didn't know, or didn't care.

"Of all the things you mentioned, the one that you can't stomach is at the same the only one that has nothing to do with the truth."

Larson's eyes focused on the man in his armchair once again.

"I've _seen_ how you look at her, Connor.", he hissed. "Who are you trying to kid?"

General rose slowly, walking towards the kneeling man, held motionlessly by his cyborg. He lowered himself, his face only inches away from the lieutenant's, gaze piercing.

"_I've never slept with her._", he whispered softly, yet somehow his voice carried the strength of a hurricane.

Larson dropped his head. He couldn't look into those eyes. He couldn't disagree, not when he stood before him and said it like that. He heard Connor rising next to him and it was slowly being apparent that the conversation was nearing its end.

"What now?", he whispered quietly. "Are you going to kill me?"

Connor shook his head slightly.

"I wish i could.", he answered coldly. "I really do. Problem is, your death could easily be turned into martyrdom and i've got enough problems with my people as it is, after everything i've done to catch you."

He looked at Larson once again and for some reason his eyes carried no consolation.

"You'll leave the base in an hour. You can take your clothes, a knife, food for one day and a bottle of water. If i ever see you again, or hear about you near any of my outposts, i'll give the order to open fire."

The ex-lieutenant snorted.

"Better to just kill us.", he said. "It's the same thing anyway."

"Not for the people, Larson.", John Connor answered calmly. "Not for the people."

* * *

Denizens of the Carey base watched in moved silence, as the two men were led in the middle of the cave, slowly nearing the shaft that made one of the base's entrances. There were no commands this time, no official meetings. Gossip and human curiosity did its work.

John Connor observed too, both Cameron and Taria in his company, his eyes hard, face emotionless.

A moment before disappearing, the ex-lieutenant Larson looked into the general's eyes. There was anger in that stare along with a silent promise. Then, he walked up, in the company of his protegee.

General looked at the T-1001 standing to his left.

"You know your orders, White Raven."

The creature nodded its head.

"An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth."

"No closer then fifty miles from here. Unless something kills them earlier. And no bodies to be found."

Taria nodded her head once more and Connor turned back and walked towards his quarters, with only Cameron at his side.

Every war was based on deception.

Every war also happened to be cruel.

* * *

Afterword:

_Thanks for reading the chapter. Don't forget the Epilogue. _


	5. Epilogue

*** Epilogue ***

"You are quiet, John.", she stated a fact, looking at him.

They were lying on the bed, in his bedroom, John staring at the ceiling, Cameron staring at him. There was nothing extraordinary in that, in the last quarter-century they spent many evenings like that, talking about almost everything. Other times they would say nothing at all, John happy with her just being there. Today, however, he felt... different. The last few days took their toll on him.

"I'm thinking...", he whispered. "about many things.", he added, stroking her hair lazily.

He looked at her. She was wearing a normal, black t-shirt and military trousers – things she wore on many days, during everyday life in the base. In complete contrast to times before Judgement Day, when she could experiment with her taste and fashion sense – which at the time seemed pretty funny to him, considering what she was. She always seemed concerned about the way she looked and he sometimes wondered if she missed all of that. _If she could miss all of that. _Nowadays, her choice of attire was limited to a few worn t-shirts, four pairs of trousers, two skirts and several leather jackets. _Perhaps that's why she steals my shirts so often, _crossed his mind. Whichever it was, she never complained.

As far as John was concerned, her clothing didn't matter at all. Lying here now, as she was, with auburn hair spilled over the pillow, flawless skin and those huge, deer eyes staring at him without a single word she was more beautiful to him then ever before.

"You are sad." she picked up again.

"A little, Cam. Just a little."

Many things that Larson said were true. There were also many he couldn't even suspect. She fought for him, killed for him and was wounded for him, many times. For him, she worked in the labs, creating science projects and reversing enemy technology for the resistance's needs. She was also the one thing that kept him sane, she alone and nothing else. It was Cameron who cradled him to her breast when he had a nightmare attack, appearing at his side even in the middle of the night, whenever he needed her. It was her hand he held, when he needed support and she was the one to help him with thinking, planning and taking responsibility for his decisions.

What he said was true, however. She was never his lover.

Oh, he knew he loved her. He knew for a very long time, over twenty years now. You couldn't possibly jump into the future for someone, risking your fate, and the whole world that happened to ride on your back along with it, without asking yourself: _Why?_ Even if he could try to deny it before, that decision forced him to finally look at his feelings, and finding love amongst them wasn't hard.

It was also then, when they returned to their time, placing history back on its tracks, that he made his choice and ordered his heart to stop, drawing a line between them. A teenager named John Connor could be in love with Cameron. The General John Connor couldn't be in love with a machine. It was too big of a risk.

Problem was, his heart wasn't a soldier and didn't take orders from anyone. The only way to save himself from his feelings would be to get her away from him, try to forget, and that, paradoxically, couldn't happen because of very practical reasons. He needed her as his bodyguard, even if her closeness tore at his soul every day.

And later... he simply could't find the strength to do it anymore.

He did the only thing he could. He used his will and built a dam around his feelings, that he kept intact and in place for over twenty years. He fought a silent battle each time he felt her touch, heard her voice or just looked at her beautiful, lithe body. And each time he won, staying in control, a master of his emotions.

Until a few days ago.

At that moment, up there on that damned rocky shelf, when he looked at her shattered, lifeless face, he felt something breaking inside of him. Even those next few days, despite knowing she'll be alright, when he kept her away, weaving his web, only served to deepen the wound. He really felt, for the first time since his mad jump into the future, he felt what would happen if he ever lost her. And then, to make things even worse, there was the context – the fact that she was a step away from death not because of Skynet's machines, but because of one of his own people.

_What sense is there, in all of this, if they still want to kill her...?_, the question circled around his head and even knowing he can answer it, he can find the sense, he couldn't get get it out.

It was just too much.

He was feeling the dam breaking apart.

And he was very scared of what that meant.

A touch of her hand on his cheek broke his chain of thought. When he opened his eyes, however, he saw her face just inches away. A face he saw in the features of every single woman he made love to in the last twenty five years. Her eyes were as big as ever, her lips parted a little and the man found out, with anxiety, that he can't stop staring at them. A small move of his head, was all it would take...

"John.", she suddenly said, looking into his eyes. "I don't want you to be sad."

Simple, innocent words.

They made him tremble.

He didn't know if it was the relief of still having her by his side, or the fear that despite all her strength, her life could be so fragile, or the excitement caused by her being so close. Or perhaps all of these things, and thousands more.

His reaction was faster then his thoughts. In fact, he understood what's happening only when he already felt his lips on hers. The kiss lasted only for a little while, for her lips didn't respond as he would've wished. _She doesn't have such desires._, he reminded himself sadly. _There's no passion in her, no fire._

"John...?", he heard a quiet question.

"Cam... i'm... i'm sorry... i didn't mean... i don't know what came... ove...

His tirade was suddenly stopped when he once again felt her lips, unexpectedly hot and unexpectedly greedy, on his own. This time the kiss lasted a long, long while, passion almost overwhelming. He felt his hand crawling under her shirt despite his will, wanting to touch her bare skin, he felt it caressing places forbidden until now. He drew her closer to himself, feeling her hands moving over his neck and stomach in return.

_Why did she...? Oh God..._

And when moments later she straddled him, moving to his stomach and skillfully placing her weight as not to hurt him, when with her lips still on his own she suddenly ripped his shirt off his chest in one move, her hair tickling his suddenly very sensitive skin, he knew...

He knew that the dam just broke.

_What am i doing?_

...was the last, relatively sensible thought in the mind of John Connor, leader of what was left of humanity, when he slid the black t-shirt off the shoulders of a terminator, once sent to kill him.

Then, the wave, a quarter-century's worth of withheld feelings and desires flooded him completely.

Because for everything, there's a first time.

*** FIN ***

* * *

Afterword:

_See the irony? ^^_

_Sorry for all hard moments but i hope it's more understandable now why the story was shaped like that. There's no pleasure without pain, and no happiness without sadness to contrast it._

_Thanks for everyone who reached the end!_

_Please, review away!_

_P.s. I'm thinking about writing a sequel, picking the story up from this moment and showing the last years of war. Not sure yet, though, if it'll happen as i also have other ideas and i'm not sure if i want to break the unique way this ff ended. _

_Thanks, once again :)  
_


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